Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was my 39th birthday. My last good year. Wah. Oh, who am I kidding. My last good year was 25. In the looks department, that is. I'll be glad to turn 40 next year and just get it over with. Heck, why don't I skip straight to 50. Oprah says women are happier in their fifties. That we can finally just let it all go so to speak. Not ourselves, but our need to look and feel 21. But that was back when Oprah had a show rather than in infomercial.

My Mom made me a carrot cake. It was always my favorite. She put a 29 on there with ten candles so I could celebrate the tenth anniversary of my 29th birthday.



Joe Joe had a heck of a time snacking on the frosting remnants. Yes, I said frosting. I know that makes me an awful, horrible Mom but it's okay. I'm already over your opinion of me. That sounds bitter and I don't mean it to. But Diary, you can be awfully judgmental.



My Bitter Half provided me with a card from the babies. He doesn't know that I know that it was him who secretly bought it. Tucked into it was the best possible gift. Pictures of my babies' bottoms and butt cracks. The Bitter One knows I love nothing more than a baby bottoms. I'm still smiling about it. Tucked a few of the photos on the fridge.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600" caption="Gunther heads are to protect the guilty and the butt crackage."][/caption]

Lily looked really cute in her ducky outfit. I finally had to admit that she looks good in colors other than pink. I guess the hundreds of pink baby items I purchased for her and organized by age, size and hue will have to sit untouched. The baby wants to wear primary colors. And what the baby wants the baby gets.



I just posted what I thought was a witty comment over on the Scoblizer's Blog. Turns out it wasn't witty at all. It was bordering on stupid. And that thing I said I would check out doesn't even pertain to somebody like me. If only I could edit other people's blogs. Do you think he'll put me on his ban list? Oh, let it go woman! Do you think Scoble sits over there agonizing and feeling silly and worrying about offending me and looking stupid in his posts at my blog? Surely not. And not just because he doesn't comment here. That's a whole other issue. Get off my case, Diary. I know I need to snap out of it.

I wonder if anyone clicked on any of my referral links? Nope, not yet. That's okay. If it's meant to be it will be.

I think I'll have a piece of cake while the gettin' is still good.

TTFN,

Heather