The Hallmark of the internet ...

This year I showed great restraint during my birthday week by not taking the gigantic box that arrived from Zappos, locking myself in the laundry room, ripping into the fucker and then wearing the contents of said box immediately to the grocery store. (Putting them back in the box, resealing it and then sitting on it with my legs crossed, whistling casually when Chuck woke up).

There is a story from when I was just a pimply teenager desperate for a Y necklace. Found one hiding in a box in my mom's nightstand a few days before Easter. Family lore has me returning it in favor of one I liked better before my mom had a chance to wrap it. As much as I want that story to be true, it simply is not. I waited to return it until after I opened it. I can't wait until I'm so old that I only remember the fable version.

I did, however, set my alarm for 12 a.m. and by 12:00.15 I was wearing these suckers -- which I've wanted since I saw Leisha Hailey of "The L Word" wearing awesome cowboy boots on stage when her band Uh Huh Her performed at Pride last year.

Another victorious gift from Chuckles Van Chuckerstein.

I'll say this for Facebook: It certainly knows how to do up a birthday. I haven't been so delighted by responses from friends and family in, like, ever. All these long-lost faces popping up to say "Happy Birthday" or give me some special message -- like that today was also Gina from the GoGos birthday! (Thanks, Jodi) -- what a treat.

Facebook, you are the Hallmark of the Internet.

I haven't gone out wreckin' on my birthday for two years, but Chuck and I found another suitable way to damage our innards:

The Dairy Queen Heath Bar Blizzard Ice Cream Cake. My slice was more like a slab. So delicious. I still wanted to barf. And it provided its own special variety of hangover.

So bummed that now I have to go back to it not being my birthday anymore.