But I don’t have any Bacardi

Today was very ordinary. I returned some videos, checked my post office box, went to the gym. I went to the German cafe down the road and had coffee and a vanilla slice, because I thought I ought to do something sweet and celebratory for my birthday.

I also explored the scrapbooking supplies shop, which has intrigued me for the last year. It was disgusting and appealed to me, so I must never venture there again.

I had cashew chicken Otto Woo udon noodles for dinner, because that’s one of my favourite things. There was a fortune cookie in the bag. I cracked it open and my fortune read:

This insert has a protective coating

Oh wait. Wrong side. Sorry.

You will advance the careers of your friends in your climb for success.

So when I become a famous R&B singer, I’ll have an entourage of all my homeboys and -girls. Cool.

I have no present tally to report. The package my mother sent on Wednesday hasn’t arrived yet, and I don’t appear to have been given anything else by anyone else.

A couple of my international interweb hizoz PayPal’d me some spare change, though, and that was nice.

Only one year until I’m 30. This is good, because I thought 30 would be all scary and grown-up and mature. It looks like it’ll be like 18, but with more wrinkles and a bit more wisdom and street skillz.

And thank you to everyone who wished me happy birthday in the comments of my last post. That was really lovely!

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