Everyone in my family was feeling rather sedated with the news of my grandmother's death, so we didn't do much for my birthday. Dad said we could go to any restaurant I liked for lunch, and for some reason I had a huge craving for breakfast food. Something that was pure butter and cream and fatty goodness. So we ended up at IHOP so I could binge on strawberry-stuffed french toast. Yummy.

It seems like this birthday was cursed to be insignificant, no matter how much I wanted to make a fuss of it. Last year, my friend Kitty was planning to have her wedding on my birthday, but that fell through thanks to the available dates at the local cathedral. I'm still living at home, which cancels the possibility of a big, lavish party since my parents don't like large crowds in our house. Seanie had his college graduation, so a lot of attention was actually focused that way, and had I been free I would have had to go to his ceremony and his family's celebratory dinners and whatnot afterward. Finally, Popo's death made it seem downright inappropriate to go for a big fiesta.

Besides, Dr. Wilson had scheduled me to work and Jane had been unable to cover the shift. It was easier to just go work for a few hours than stay at home and keep quiet, or to go to Seanie's graduation and watch his professors pat themselves on the back. I think, if Jane had taken the shift, I would have driven off to Mt. Madonna or Quicksilver Park, somewhere outdoors where I could go hiking all day. Maybe the beach if I wasn't such a wuss about Highway 17.

Oh well. There's some fun stuff planned this weekend. Tomorrow I'm going up to Mt. Madonna after work to meet up with one of my childhood buddies, and then Sunday I'm going out to dinner with Kitty, Kero and Bandaid.

Happy 23rd* birthday, me!

* 23rd because I decided I liked that number and I'll never get any older.