It’s my birthday. Woke up this morning and said two words: Monkey Bread.
Now, you may be saying to yourself, What a strange person. What secret meaning does that phrase hold? And how do they get the monkeys on the bread?
Come, let me show you the secrets of the sea.
The cafe across the street makes a delicious concoction–“cinnamon sugar swirled through sweet dough”–called Monkey Bread that is just a big lump of love on a plate. (“Made with real monkeys!”) This thing sits in your colon like it has a half-life of two thousand years. I will die, and grave diggers will still be able to unearth it, smiling up through my bones. It is that solid. I ate the whole thing AND I had a cup of coffee–first time in weeks. I am FLYING right now, people! The sugar-java combo? Oh my god. Seriously, I think I could achieve cold fusion in a Coke can. I am drunk with power. Also, I may not need to eat for another week.
Of course, it was snowing when I got up. I am fairly certain I put in a request to the universe for sixty degrees and sunny. The universe, she mocks me.
As it is my bday, I have to do the requisite, Taking Stock list. Here is my list for things to do this year:
1. Finish Bovine.
2. Start work on book #3 in the Gemma trilogy.
3. Become fluent in Pig Latin.
4. Stop reading US magazine. Just as soon as I find out why Denise Richards left Charlie Sheen.
5. Buy a house.
6. Become a grown-up and see a financial advisor.
7. Get off my crappy insurance and find less crappy insurance.
8. Stop procrastinating, starting next week.
9. Go see more live music.
10. Learn Dreamweaver so I can finish my website.
I’m sure there’s more–bend spoons using only the power of my mind; buy socks with catch phrases on them; befuddle telemarketers by answering their pitches with, “I’m sorry, Satan tells me I can’t do that unless I roast and eat your dog.”–but it’s good to have far-reaching goals.
Tonight, B. is taking me out to dinner. I’m a big fan of eating, so this works. I’m excited. Last night, my friend Suse took me out for sushi and some general hanging out time at the Loki Lounge where somebody played The Specials right at midnight, and I was made deliriously happy by this, like the universe planted a big wet smackeroo on my cheek. It almost makes up for the snow. Almost.
Wednesday night, I went out with a group of teen authors, not for my bday, actually, but a gal can pretend, right? It was David Levithan, Rachel Cohn, Sarah Lenofsky, Wendy Mass, Billy Merrill, Daniel Ehrenhaft, and Emily Whose Last Name Escapes Me Right Now and I Feel Like a Heel for It. Arrrghh! Aging brain. Also, I did not spell check those names so don’t quote me. It was very fun. Lotsa laughs, picture taking, silliness, and dancing using only our arms and without actually leaving our seats. Come to think of it, that bar did clear out pretty fast… And I was home in time to watch “American Idol” which is my secret shame. (Or not so secret since I’m posting it here.)
So I guess it’s been a pretty nice birthday so far. But when you start the day eating tiny slivers of Monkey spread on sweet dough and capped off with coffee, how could it not be?