I can haz 32 yrz.

Yesterday was my birthday. On Saturday night, I rung in the weekend with trips to Devil’s Den (duck fries make me fucking weep), Rim Cafe (where Rene made me a drink about as large as my fuckin’ head. #TRUTH), and The Dive (where I got to see the cutest grey and white pit bull. HE SAT AT THE BAR LIKE PEOPLE!)

Since my birthday, like, never falls on Easter, Anarchist Boyfriend and I had to do a little creative planning throughout the week. (This involved a series of anal retentively planned shopping trips and a 3 am grocery store run.) For the lulz, I insisted on an Easter basket. I like chocolate (AND PEEEEEEEEPS) and I couldn’t stop giggling over the fact that MY birthday was on Easter. I mean, come on? WHO THOUGHT THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA?!?!?

This was his version of an Easter basket. No, that is not a hard boiled egg. (We used it in challah French toast.)

After hours of lounging around (because, really, wtf were we going to do on Easter?), we followed up with the most amazing dinner in the universe. At one point, he told me to stick my head over the saucepan and smell the gloriousness; I asked him if it could handle my salty tears. This was the result.

Yes, I am in my PJ’s, my hair is a mess, and the photo is a little blurry, but I got chicken with morels (thank you, Giant for your $3.99/oz. packs of morels!) along with pommes Chef Anne. Nyah nyah.

This was followed by Ben & Jerry’s brand spankin’ new Red Velvet Cake ice cream. Sadly, though, I received no incredibly sexist greeting cards. Oh wait. No, that’s a good thing. (h/t to @infinitelynoor.)

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