I stopped on the way at a garden centre, and bought each of us a bright red geranium.

So far so good.

Donna is unable to navigate stairs, and needs assistance, even with her walker. She falls quite a bit since her series of strokes.

The elevator in her building was on the fritz.

*Cue Friday the Thirteenth music*

Turns out that the place we had planned to eat lunch delivered.

Crisis averted.

So, that was the worst thing that happened, and really?

We ordered a delicious lunch, cracked open a beer each (which she had had since February) toasted one another, and ate at her table in our new clothing.

Yes! Donna and I had new outfits for the festive occasion

Notice I didn’t say birthday suits? I’m thoughtful and fabulous that way.

She was thrilled with her geranium, and we had a lovely time, although, as usual, she smoked my arse at Skip-Bo. She’s such a ruthless player that I once brought a pack to the hospital to see if I could beat her when she was sick. Crafty? Donna was. She refused to play.

We made plans to get together with Ass Burger Boy on his birthday next month at the same place we couldn’t get to today.

Friday the thirteenth? I fart in your general direction.

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Born on Friday Thirteenth

I woke up to the floors that Ass Burger Boy had mopped for me. Love that. And to the smell of fresh coffee he had made. Also an email from him announcing the money is in the bank. (from a paypal payment)

After trying most of the morning to upload a dubious picture of myself as a wanton wild child, I abandoned my post for a doctor’s appointment.

The doctor had called me in to discuss the status of my prescriptions. I had run out about two weeks before the three month duration had expired. We agreed that this doesn’t constitute drug abuse. As he was looking at my files, he said it must have been a psychic impulse that had him call me in because there had been no word from the surgeon, and he needed to find out why. He’s really a sweetie.

It seems the surgeon had put a low priority code on my file because it didn’t seem alarming to him. Okay, fine, but I won’t be available until after August 18th for appointments. I’m really not in a hurry to have a tube and a camera inserted into my backside.

So I bought myself a package of strawberry twizzlers and decided I wasn’t cooking supper unless I could persuade Ass Burger Boy to run to the store for a frozen pizza. (That’s not really cooking. And I could have filled up on twizzlers.)

We toyed with the idea of seeing a favourite jazz singer of mine perform, but I chose to shed the bra and get back into jammies.

Then the uploads worked, and I posted my post, only to find that Hotfessional had outed my birthday. There are a few anonymous bloggers who know each other’s real identities, and are Facebook friends. Facebook announces your birthday.

So for those who wanted to know about my day. Pretty boring. Store bought pizza, strawberry twizzlers, and red wine. Not like the days when I was the Queen.

And this morning, when I was waking up, I was dreaming about bingo. Maybe it’s a sign that I should go.

If you are not reading this sentence in an aggregrate feed reader, then the content has been stolen from Psychicgeek. Bad Karma.

Boring Birthday