For my actual birthday, we decided to dine at the closest Macaroni Grill. I managed to not reach across the table to wrench the bread out of everybody else’s reach. I did, however, devour roughly half my body weight in Chicken Marsala and bowtie pasta and red wine. In the first snapshot below, the raving beauty wearing black is Bill whom I featured in a recent article. The other two ladies are Sinthia and Tee. I know, I know, my name disguises are just brilliant!

Yes, I know it looks like I have my hands stuck in their groins, but I promise you, my hands were merely resting lightly on their thighs. Which is only slightly less pervy but they’re taller than me and it’s awkward to put my arms up over their shoulders. At least, that’s MY excuse.

Yes, ladies, the handsome [male] stud in the next snapshot is, indeed, single. Now that the four-year statute of limitations has expired, I will also confess that we dated at one time a few years ago and he includes an A+ rating from Yours Truly.

Contrary to popular misconception, I do not choose my friends based on their physical attractiveness. It is not my fault in the least that my friends all happen to be gorgeous. I would have included a photo of another of my guyfriends who joined us, but some photos were taken with his camera and he hasn’t sent them to me yet. I understand he is waiting on his grown son to show him how to upload the photos from camera to email. I understand, but that doesn’t mean I have to LIKE it!

The next photo is a lesson in why you should check to determine whether your waittress has been drinking before you ask her to take a nice, out-of-focus, dark, blurry photo for you. The lovely lady wining and dining me here at Pappadeaux is my closest friend on this planet, Shelley . . . um, I mean “Telly”. I probably drove her nuts all weekend by introducing her repeatedly as “my closest friend in the world!!”. But, as much as I hate labels, I wanted everyone to be absolutely clear that she wasn’t just some random drinking buddy I had just picked up, she is somebody I have known and loved and trusted for a decade . . . OK, sorry, Mushy Moment over now.

As you can see, I am gently gripping her arm in a subtle attempt to get her to pretend she’s having a good time. Since I am an excellent multi-tasker, at the same time I was also managing to cop a back-handed feel. We gorged ourselves on Tilapia and Salmon . . . and did you know that if you eat asparagus you’ll be able to smell it in your urine within minutes? OK, let’s just move along then. Should I back-track for a moment and mention that we’d already split an order of fajitas for lunch at Chili’s? No? too late for that? OK, back to the food frenzy.

For our final feast of the weekend, we had “brunch” [I don’t know why they call it that since there is no buffet] at a popular local restaurant in The Gay part of town. It happens to be directly next-door to myNightclub™ and it is known for it’s colourful clientele. I was actually rather disappointed at the relative dearth of transvestites, but the food more than made up for it. I had steak and poached eggs with Hollandaise sauce, creamy potatoes, fruit — which just cluttered-up my plate — and one of their “famous” Bellinis — which appropriately, is a “fruity cocktail”.

The delicious little snack nestled between us was the prettiest waiter in the place. His eye make-up was much more fancy than mine. Unfortunately, you can’t see quite close enough to view the pretty silver glitter he had on in addition to the eye-shadow and mascara.

Lest you think that ALL we did was eat huge meals at nice restaurants, I will allow you a further glimpse into the intimate details of my personal life. We also did a lot of drinking. Not only that, but we stopped by a restaurant where another of my guyfriends is the manager — and we turned down a free meal. The fact that we had literally driven there from our massive brunch had nothing whatsoever to do with declining the complimentary lunch. We also toured the local liquor warehouse cuz we’re classy like that, visited the animal shelter kitties [mostly because Telly is allergic to kats and my own personal felines happen to be hypo-allergenic so she wasn’t getting near enough exposure to potential massive hive outbreaks], and we floated around in the swimming pool without accidentally drowning any loud, annoying children. At some point we even stopped by myPub™ so that I could roll out a few more dulcet announcements regarding “my closest friend in this ENTIRE UNIVERSE!!!” I think at one point one of us might have even taken a shower.

Originally, I had wanted to go to a “fun center” where they have miniature golf, and go-karts, and bumper boats. But, for those of you not in the know, Texass is currently in the grip of its usual hotter-than-the-9th-circle-of-hell heat and humidity “Summer”. This is the time of year when you take your life in your hands by merely stepping outside and attempting to inhale. Although, I still have no understanding as to why most buildings are air-conditioned to the degree of a meat locker. Is there some reason why we can’t enjoy a LITTLE of the “warmth” of “Summer”?

Here are the usual thumbnails so you can get a good look at what middle age can do to you [warning: absolutely NO airbrushing!!]:

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♥ … A heartfelt thank-you to Telly’s husband, Doug Bug, for loaning her to me for the weekend! … ♥

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^©www.danjeruskurves.com. Reproduction of the image(s) on this page in any form is strictly prohibited. The contents herein are protected by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Furthermore, if you steal my artwork, I will hunt you down and publicly humiliate you.

Yes, that’s right, my birthday is the French equivalent of the Fourth of July in the U.S., only with much better food.

I was actually born six days late because EvilMummy insisted that I be born on a day of revolution thus setting a life-long rebellious trend for my future misadventures . . . and giving me the perfect excuse to say that I have never been on time in my entire life.

Happy Bastille Day, France!!

Now bring me some frog’s legs and make them snappy!

For my birthday I would like whirled peas . . .

and liposuction . . .

and never having to diet or give up alcohol or cheese in an attempt to shed the spread . . .

Birthday Suit . . . I has one. [Dis my lolnude!!!1!!]

My birthday suit is now 48 years old but it only needed to be stretched into shape in a couple of places this year. The face, however, required a teensy bit of air-brushing ironing.

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^©www.danjeruskurves.com. Reproduction of the image(s) on this page in any form is strictly prohibited. The contents herein are protected by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Furthermore, if you steal my artwork, I will hunt you down and publicly humiliate you. That goes DOUBLE for the psycho-bitch who stole my 47th birthday photos [and others] and posted them on her skanky little AOHell profile pretending to be me.

I didn’t have time to airbrush edit the photos on the same day as the shoot because I spent the afternoon cleaning kat condos at the animal adoption centre. I know, you envy my glamourous lifestyle, but please try to contain yourself.

At one point I was fully inside one of the large enclosures, cleaning the window, and a customer strolled by grinning and waving at me. Naturally, I miaowed at her and she laughed and walked quickly away without looking back.

So there I was, covered in sweat and kat fur, up to my elbows in kat-litter, with half a dozen kittens trying to eat me alive. The manager took that moment to knock on the closed door to the adoption area just to thank me for doing a great job. I told her that it was the adoption centre supervisor’s policy to schedule only the British people for cleaning on the Fourth of July.

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^©www.danjeruskurves.com. Reproduction of the image(s) on this page in any form is strictly prohibited. The contents herein are protected by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Furthermore, if you steal my artwork, I will hunt you down and publicly humiliate you.

Well, nothing, actually. It’s just that I’ve noticed some people keep track of this sort-of thing. Yes, yes, I know I probably should have celebrated my 500th post, but it must have slipped my mind . . . well, that and I really don’t give a damn. The fact that this might not really, actually, be my 517th post is irrelevant. As I sometimes assign a post to more than one category (i.e., Humourous and GoFuckYerself or Erotica and Kat Tails), it’s possible that WordPress in its infinite non-wisdom, may be counting that as two posts. Again, I don’t care. All that matters is that I did not resort to the latest copycat quiz making the rounds of blogs and websites just because a little Writer’s Block has been kicking my arse.

No, I will not resort to the “blogger’s” cop-out of posting some unoriginal and much-recycled “meme”. Firstly because I am NOT a “blogger” . . . I have been writing poems, stories, diaries, and amusing letters since I was a mere slip of a child! Do you see the word “blog” anywhere in my domain name? NO, you don’t! Stop trying to drag me into your sheep-like cult!! . . .

[pregnant pause] . . .

and secondly because I can always resort to posting some T&A. Well, for another week or two and then Middle Age Spread is going to put the kibosh on that . . . ~sigh~

Fine.

I’ll post some fresh meat T&A before the end of the week.

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The End.

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