My birthday was Wednesday. Dave and I always make each other a birthday cake.
My favorite cake is Harvey Wallbanger. This cake (boxed yellow mix doctored with vanilla pudding and the ingredients of the Harvey Wallbanger drink–vodka, Galliano, and orange juice) was a childhood favorite. In my family, there were two schools: cream cheese frosting/normal cake pan (my Gram) and powdered sugar glaze/bundt (my Great Aunt Gert…and apparently everyone else in the U.S., as evidenced by my futile search for an online recipe that matches mine–this is the closest I could find.). While I’m not going to turn down a slice of Harvey Wallbanger bundt cake with glaze on top, I’m on Team Cream Cheese (yea, Gram!). Everything tastes better with cream cheese frosting.
Bundt??? It’s a cake!
Here is Dave’s handiwork this year:
Here is some physics humor:
ME: Is the pattern on the top some sort of scientific notation?
DAVE: It’s the signature of the Higgs boson.
END PHYSICS HUMOR.
This year’s worst birthday present: Timeline, thanks Facebook!
This year’s age: 39.
I have some thoughts about turning 39, or more accurately, being 363 days away from 40, mostly along the lines of, “fuck!”
But since my period will start anytime in the next 0 to 14 days, (it’s like broken-clockwork) perhaps I’m just generally cranky, not age-specifically cranky. So I think I’ll mull it over more before sharing my deep and meaningful and bitchy feelings.
Hey, speaking of broken clocks…did anyone else find Ato Boldon’s Olympic sprint commentary sort of bizarre? It’s like he talked until he stopped making sense. He’d just throw random shit out that sounded like it could be relevant, such as: “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Um, right. Wait, what? Hey, a stitch in time saves nine! He who fights and runs away, may live to fight another day! Insert random saying mentioning time or running here!
I’m going to eat more cake now.