you say it's your birthday...

23 23 23.

Spent the weekend in the Newest of Jerseys, at the shore, catching up with my friend Julia, who's known me since third grade. She is so beautiful and kindhearted and mindblowingly smart. When you find a person who makes you feel comfortable in any situation and context, that's something to hold on to. Julia is one of those gems.

We talked on the beach, ordered delicious salads on the porch of a waterside restaurant, made me an early birthday cake, watched 682 episodes of Dexter On Demand, and got all artsy craftsy. I slept on the most comfortable couch, in the cute guesthouse of a famous musician -- because Julia impresses everyone, even world-renowned rock stars.



Boxed cake.
Only the best for my birthday.





And the kindness continued with birthday gifts from Lindsay's family, who's letting me stay at their home for the month (butchered that pronoun agreement). As if letting me stay in their home isn't gracious enough, they surprised me with:



"Eat Drink and Be Vegan" cookbook (!!!), Clif Bars, trail mix, Numi tea, stainless steel water bottle, Burt's Bees body butter and soap, Barnes & Noble giftcard.


Tomorrow, I treat myself to an hour of deep tissue massage. I want to cry in pain and hurts-so-goodness. I also bought myself this gorgeous and morbid, handmade poster from etsy.com:

At dinner yesterday, I was greeted with a platter of cupcakes and candles. It wasn't until now that I realized: I didn't make a wish when I blew out the little flames.

I'm starting to think that might be a good sign.