Birthday...

They say it's my birthday...

Mostly my mother claims it's my birthday. I believe her, of course.

And, for the first time in nine years, I'm celebrating it as a single woman. I wasn't sure what to do. Do I go out to dinner with girlfriends? Do I lay low and bake my own cake and have a little celebration with the kids? Do I still do something fun with Chad? Or...

Do I drive down to LA, decorate generic T-shirts with puff paint, felt flowers and hastily cut out letters and then go wait in line for five hours to see a taping of The Price is Right hoping they call for me to come on down and win a fabulous showcase showdown?

Well, obviously, I'm typing this from LA, while wearing a sparkly crown and a really ghetto fabulous chopped up tee shirt that in no way, shape or form, flatters me. And I'm obviously keeping my fingers and toes crossed that I'll have the opportunity to watch myself on TV and bury my head in my arms crying, "I look like a big, green grape!"

Best. Birthday. Idea. Ever.