That could have went better.
For my birthday I received a head butt, got peed on, stepped on, ignored due to Holly Hobbie's search for maple tree sap for the Spring Festival, kicked in the balls, and finished the night with blue balls.
At least the home cooking was supreme as always: Huge breaded pork chops, whipped potatoes, layer biscuits, and topped off with some angel food cake with ice cream.
At least my stomach was satisified and I got to see my brother and sister. If there's a wonder why I enjoy my fantasy-land birthday's in Vegas, look above. Call it selfish if you want, but it would have been nice to have a birthday celebration with at least an enjoyable dinner and laughs instead of fighting with a two year old to finish her dinner.
See you folks in four days, I'm hoping for a better attitude by then because right now I'm mired in a cloud "don't give a fuck". And if history repeats itself, that's a dangerous attitude to have in Vegas.
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