Happy MLK Day, Fuckers

I know some of my Midwestern hotties don't want to me to brag about the beautiful weather I've been enjoying for the last few days, mid - 70s, bright, sunny and fabulous. This, I think, is what a January should be. I spent all weekend with my windows open and a warm breeze blowing through. I sat out on my front porch in my rocking chair and pondered the meaning of life while the sun beat down on me. I danced around my front yard in a gauzey white dress while bluebirds braided my hair. It is no secret that my happiness seems to directly correlate with the weather. And this is why, no matter how much he begs me, I am unable to marry Joe and move to Montana. It did not, however, keep me from having impure thoughts about him Saturday night. But that's another story for another time.

After pouting for a full straight week, I thought up the cutest little idea for my birthday. So I made a few calls and sent out a few emails inviting the upper tier of real life hotties to a little self thrown birthday bash. Only to find out a few hours later that apparently I had somehow foiled plans for a surprise party to be thrown the night before. Oopsie. So after comparing plans for the two parties, I autonomously decided that mine were way better and therefore, my party must go on. So the cake (which I'm told is going to be a doozy) food and decorations from party A will be carried over to the location, date and theme of party B. And then, maybe, just maybe, I'll be happy.

The focal point of the night is going to be a roast in my honor. I'm self depreciating enough to find this exciting. So I will spend this week with my thinking cap on furiously penning counter roast jokes for the finale. And if any of my hotties would like to participate, please email your Hot Lips Roast material to me and I'll be sure that they are read aloud. You know the email address, bitches.

And well, that's that.