09.18.06 :: 10:15 am

Ryan turned 34 yesterday and I bought him a plaid button down and a gigunda coffee table book on ancient maps to celebrate.
Then I made him cook me dinner because that’s how I roll, motherfuckers.

I’m celebrating my birthday this Friday by enduring yet another reception meeting and I swear to God I can’t wait until the day I no longer have to speak to that woman, I am so sick to death of her.
For no reason in particular, other than I know her deal at this stage of the game, I know when I’m getting the bait-n-switch or when she’s trying to squeeze more money out of my mother.
I don’t appreciate it, and I’m done.
And if she thinks I’m paying $750 for her “day of” coordinator services, she’s fucking delusional.

Anyway.
Nothing spells birthday celebration better than back to back doctor’s appointments. One every day this week.
I’m such a masochist, I’m surprised I’m not crazy into degrading, submissive sex or whatever.

TMI?
You’re soaking in it.

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