Monday, 10 June 2013


is that I don't know half of the people in it. The sight of a camera (oh, and booze; booze might have something to do with it) will do that to a crowd. That's me, second from left: Yay! Still standing and not yet cross-eyed!

The experts on how to make your blog a success say it is very important to post regularly, preferably every day. I like experts. They're usually pretty smart and very helpful. However, on this issue, on this day, the experts can kiss my one-year-older butt, because it was the birthday weekend to end all birthday weekends and my head hurts in places I don't even have a head. Like my knees, for example. I am afraid to even guess why they are aching today. I will say this though, whatever I did to earn aching knees, throbbing head, fingernail sensitivity and a 1-900-worthy case of laryngitis, it was worth it. 
Like most of the bigger events in my life, it was a sort of Madonna-Whore affair, meaning there were two versions of it: the sanitary, genteel daytime version spent with my children, aunt, mom and brother, and the 'WOOHOOO! It's my dang ol' birthday!' nighttime version. If I had to pick a favourite, I'd quite honestly say the daytime version, only because these people are the most important people in my life. 
But hell, that night-time version? Not too far behind.

 at my birthday lunch. She 
has insisted that I NEVER 
identify her, and that photo,
 above, explains why.
The Day-time version (left)
Lunch at Oliver and Bonacini with the people who mean more to me than anyone or  anything: my family. My daughters, my aunt, my mom and my brother. Every time I see my aunt, I feel I have to apologize for the raunchiness of some of my posts. Even though I suspect she has read Fifty Shades of Grey and finds this blog pretty tame. "Oh, I don't care," she said yesterday, "I just think, 'Oh that's not really Mimi.' That's just her persona."  Well I thought about that for awhile and she's right. So, Auntie, thanks to you I have checked my persona into rehab. And after last night, she was only to happy to go. 

The Night-time version (pretty obviously the photo above)
After much dithering over which of Brampton's three crap-tastic bars to go to, we opted to try a new one, Slumdog Bar & Grill. Well if this kind of happy discovery keeps happening I am going to have to upgrade my rating of Brampton from Rancid Textured Diarrhea to Almost Bearable. Chic decor, a hot DJ (Deejay Julz) providing ear AND eye candy, the tiniest waitress I have ever seen in my life (if Danny de Vito were 100 years younger he'd have been ALL OVER that) and most importantly of all, a liquor licence. You'd be surprised how many places in Brampton don't have one of those. Because as I may have mentioned two or three thousand times now, Brampton is the devil's butthole

Anyway, as you can see from the photo, a good time was had by all. Several rounds of good time, in fact. If each one of us had donated one of our drinks to the Red Cross, we could probably have ended world thirst. But that's a sobering thought and I don't like those, so I'm going to go mix an Advil martini now. See you tomorrow.