2003-03-31

Thanks to all the lovely folks who wished me well on my birthday! You guys are the best. Seriously.

My birthday dinner was super fantastico. I stuffed myself absolutely retarded on curries, and maintained the dignity befitting my advanced years by refraining from puking even a little bit. And I got nifty gifts! Among other things, I received a cool collection of Edward Gorey books, which brought me to the vitally important decision that my gravestone�s inscription shall read �R is for Robin, who died of ennui.�

But the best part of the evening was the floor show. Our table was situated near the large front window of the restaurant, which allowed us to observe a genuinely gifted individual pull up in his SUV and attempt to parallel park. Apparently he was under the impression that he was parking not a motorcar at all but some manner of aircraft carrier. Despite the three feet of clearance at either end of his vehicle, he hit the car behind him, pulled slooooowwwwly forward and hit the car in front of him, and then sloooooowwwly backed up and hit the car behind him AGAIN for good measure. Either he was stoned out of his mind, catastrophically retarded, or, as turned out to be the case, Qu�becois. (Just kidding, Frenchies! Y�all drive like nutbars, but you sure as hell don�t usually do it slowly.)

Upon exiting the restaurant, I couldn�t resist giving Monsieur Magoo a bit of a back-bumper editorial:

Yes, happy birthday to me, for now I am EIGHT.