That's my meat!

Ladies and Gentlemen!

Tuesday night we went out for LaSwan's (Lady Across the Street Without A Name) Birthday. This has been the seventh birthday I have spent with LaSwan and truth be told I look as forward to "12/16" as much as I do to "9/11." I even get the same "9/11" feeling when those numbers appear sequentially, like when I buy something and it comes to "$12.16" or if I am in room "1216" in a hotel. Like that chill you get when you are peeing and you think someone is watching. And then you see that they are a teensy bit attractive so you try to do it a little sexier. But still, it makes you shudder for a second.

See, LaSwan takes her birthday and the regrets associated with the "passing of youth" very personally, as to where I completely could care less. And besides, I have given her the name of my "dermatologist" every single morning that I have seen her for the past seven years. I take care of myself! Like I say, "My body is my temple! Come inside and worship!"

And, I put beer in the batter!

This impending sense of doom causes me not to not want to go to "The Texas Roadhouse" and drink beer and shill peanuts and celebrate LaSwan's birthday even though the lovely people at the "Roadhouse" let me choose the exact steak I wanted. That part was fun! It's like being a judge at a beauty pageant, but being able to eat the girl after she wins.

Anyhoo, birthdays can be difficult. Holidays can be worse. Put those two things in close proximity and you get trouble. But nothing can help you "Forget your troubles! Come on Get happy!" like a big piece of meat that you selected like a Mayan priest at a virgin sacrifice and a "blooming onion." Add a couple of margaritas and a good time is had by all!

Pick your own meat!

I actually find being alone on the holidays can be more enjoyable, especially if you starve yourself while you know the rest of the world is pigging out. It feels like you are getting double points. Cause you know those skinny people will let their guard down and scarf down a pie or something. It's the one chance you can catch up.

Or if you go visit your "dermatologist" to have a teeny tiny bit of Botox before the holidays, getting your face ready for LA pilot season, and you get a beauty bruise, or twelve, because you drank heavily the night before they shot that botulism in your face, and because the hooch thinned your blood it oozed giant purple splotches across your forehead, it allows you to recover from the bruises in peace. Well, that's what I've heard.

Madonna with beauty bruise.

Anyhoo, thank god "12/16" has passed, and without incident! It was fun this year. Sort of. I would swear "12/16" was the longest day of the year, but scientifically it technically isn't. Dinner conversation centered around living wills, capping out our health insurance with terminal illnesses, and where we want our ashes spread. LaSwan wants her ashes spread on Tahiti even though she has never even been there, nor could she locate it on a map. I told her that I had some parts of my body spread there once during an RSVP Vacation and proceeded to tell my "Island Boy" story, but LaSwan told me to go "make love" to myself and that she couldn't wait to pull the plug on me if the occasion ever came up.

You do the honors.

At least I know my living will is going to be honored.

Don't worry about me!
VJ