Picture it: America, December 2016.
We’d just elected fucking Donald Trump. Everyone’s skin was crawling. I’d lost my longtime job early in the year and hadn’t found any prospects for a new one. My partner went through a stressful health crisis over the summer and I was really present for that. Then I broke my foot stepping out the front door and spent 6 weeks sleeping downstairs and giving myself sponge baths because I couldn’t get to the shower.
So when I tell you I celebrated turning 35 by asking my partner to bake me a cake which I wanted to I’ve and decorate so it said “FUCK 2016,” I feel like to bed to have that full context.
Anyway, this year, I don’t know. K’s gonna be out of town. I don’t really care. I got him to get us tickets to see Neko Case the week before because I fucking love Neko Case and it’s in Oakland so maybe we can actually eat at one of those fancy all-vegan joints y’all have up there that I only get to enjoy via Instagram. It’s my 37th this year, smack in the middle of my “late 30s,” which is weird as hell. Maybe I’ll just make myself a mug cake and indulge in some TV. Wait…that’s something I do all the time…fuck it.
Who wants to take me out for dinner? Mid December. I just like vegan food.