Thank you,
Paul, for the Oreo birthday cake!
Paul took the candles from the cake I got him (they spelled “1337”, which is read as “leet” — hacker talk for “elite”) and rearranged them to read “37 3 1”; 37 minus 3 plus 1 equals 35. Nice arithmetic work, homeslice.
Paul explains that 37 minus 3 plus 1 does equal 35 to a skeptical onlooker.
Milliseconds after I blow out the candles. The cake was heaven: chocolate layer on the bottom, followed by a white layer, then custard, then icing. I will atone for my sins at the gym today.
I’m so overwhelmed at the cake that I’m reduced to non-sequitur hand gestures (“Yo, they were this big, dogg!”)
Some of the booty. A magnum of Heineken from Desmond, red wine, and Blavod “black vodka”. It’s really black!
The judges approve of the snacks.
Look! Avril Lavigne and J-Lo showed up for cake! No, that’s Holly and Leila. But Dorian (in the jacket on the left) is happy to see them anyway.
Will tells me how pleased he is that I’ve stocked his favourite drink: cranberry juice at room temperature. No, I’m not kidding.
Stephanie shows us her favourite page of the Sex Manual for People Over 30. I am contemplating the wisdom on the page.
Random dining room shot number one.
My guests marvel at how erudite a bookshelf we keep in the living room.
The entrance to the dining room, as seen from the living room.