Just so you know, my birthday is next week Sunday. Yeah, Easter Sunday, my stupid birthday is on stupid Easter which means all the restaurants will be fair teeming with fucking families and kids in pastel colored bonnets. Stupid Easter with your stupid eggs and your stupid chocolate bunnies. Mmm...chocolate bunnies. Eh. Considering the candyical benefits of this particular holiday, I guess I can't hate it just because I can't get reservations anywhere.
You know, if my birthday is on the same day that our lord and savior rose from the dead does that mean I get like...better presents? Because even though I specifically asked for David Boreanaz last year, not a one of my bastard friends delivered and I was right disappointed. You must all make up for it by getting me loads of presents. Loads.
Oh, and yes, I would still like David Boreanaz for my birthday. And please, remember to put airholes in the box. I don't want a repeat of last year's Orlando Bloom fiasco.