Apple Martinis are da Bomb

Photo by James Huctwith, Esq.

Actually, it was fine. I went to work, people brought me presents, Sona made me a kickass Trini sponge cake, (with some mad recipe like 23 eggs in it) and there was enough for everyone. It was a treat, AND they took me out for lunch, and my old boss Nancy from the National Ballet called and wished me Happy Birthday, and then Amanda (our former receptionist) stopped by and dropped off these lovely flowers, red daisies and then (YES, there's STILL MORE) my dear friend Stephanie Nickerson took me out to a fantabulous dinner at Fire on the East Side, where we were served by a very flirty waiter who liked singing kd lang's "Hymns from the 49th Parallel" as he scooted about. Fortunately he was cute, AND could sing, AND he bought us a round of shooters (red things, dunno what, Valerian or Magenta or something) and I had FOUR apple martinis, which may become my poison of choice. Those things are dead nasty, but in a good way. You never notice them
creeping up on you, until the next day when you're gasping for the Advil bottle. My folks gave me some bucks, and so aside from getting caught in the rain with Scotty (he's right, of course, only in movies do people delight in being caught in torrential downpours, real people just look for somebody to smack) it was an altogether delightful birthday. I must do this again next year.....