The hippest cat in the hood.

I still remember getting the text, three years ago, announcing your super early arrival. July is the bestest birthday month of them all! Too bad VinNay and Smokey don’t know anything about that!

I shall spare you the misery of carrying my forty pound birthday cake to Tribeca and somehow dropping the bootleg 7/11 turkey sandwich I bought, somewhere along the route from the bodega to the poker game.

Never you mind that I’ve been miserably sick *twice* in the last three weeks and the kind resident who perused my chart as I sucked in oxygen from a tube, was all “hey, you just had a birthday, huh”?
And when I nodded weakly beneath the plastic mask, she said, in a pitying voice, matched only by the pitying look in her eye, “well, happy belated birthday.”

No, ye shall hear none of those self indulgent tales of woe today! That kind of transparent grasp for lots and lots of comments to make me feel better is something I might have done when I was 29 or 30.
But now that I am 31, I am wiser and tougher and I focus on the awesome positive things.

Like…um… I got to eat cake for dinner on my birthday! And Charlie let me hijack his bimonthly poker game and everyone there sang me happy birthday…well, almost everyone… Oh and Charlie got me a designer momufuko cake which was deee-licious and Mary didn’t get any! Ha!

And though I didn’t win the tournament, that meant I got to go home early and get in a good night’s rest for my barbecue the next day.

In keeping with the theme of this particular birthday season, I shanghai’d Pi’s gorgeous Ditmas Park house and we grilled out on her porch.
(OH. MY. GOSH! Baby Alexander is totally walking already! He’s three months old, so no one believes me AND he won’t walk for anyone else, so I can’t videorecord it, BUT IT HAPPENED!!)

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh, it was fun! My nemesis Amanda drove down from Connecticut with a fancy delicious vanilla cake decorated to celebrate the sweet, darling young lady that I am. And she totally won herself fans. My mom was all “can you make a cake for my birthday in August”?

Why is my mom always trying to remind people that her birthday is in August? So unseemly. Doesn’t she know you’re just supposed to let Facebook gently nudge your nearest and dearest? Sheesh.
Speaking of facebook, I had SOOOO MANY WALL POSTS! I couldn’t even get through them all to make notations on all the people who I still talk to and all the people who are dead to me. That’s a lie. I did that the very next morning. *whistles*
Oh, young Sidney and his dad came to the BBQ too. Ugarles hands me his usual buns from Errol’s (a treat I used to get as a kid when my godmother lived across the street from Ugarles’ current house.) And he says “there was a homeless man on the train and I thought about giving him the buns, but I didn’t want to find out if you could actually kill someone with sideeye.”
OH! Mary got me a set of live action plush angry birds, and Sidney was totally whacking the pig like a pro. I’m all “how does a two-year-old know how to play angry birds?”
And Ugarles is all “um…what? You think I parent? That’s what smartphones are for, woman.”

He’s lucky his boy is a genius. Like seriously, I was showing off Sidney’s vocabulary to all my friends like I had something to do with it. “Sidney, what are those called?”

“The cymbals, I told you that already,” he sighs.

“See? See? That Patriots outfit I bought for him when he was baby TOTALLY made him brilliant!”

And then when Amanda was all “what color is that,” he just about laughed in her face. “I dunno, it might be cobalt, but I guess it’s closer to navy.”

His parents should rent him out.

Hmmm, what else? Oh, my twitter friend starfishncoffee came, so my mom was all “two black friends?! WOW!”

Yeah, that’s right. I’m hip.

Props to Pdov (who Alexander totally loves! What is it with the Asians and the Jews?) Peter, Pretty Numbers and Gene for making it out to the BBQ AND the late night poker game. You guys are the bestest!

Thanks to Alceste and Dawn 2 for making my descent into alcoholism easier.

Thanks to the Jakes for funding my future ill advised late night Amazon shopping sprees.

Thanks to Smokey for nicely complementing Pearatty’s gift with a huge box of fancy coffee beans! I’m going to plant some and try to grow a coffee tree. I AM! I AM! YOU CAN’T STOP ME!

Thanks to the anonymous donor who got me the awesome sceenplaywriting software I’ve been coveting FOREVER!

OH and thanks to Fisch, who, in addition to getting me awesome presents, took my laptop from infected and dying to just slow and old. I would give him extra props for working on it in the middle of the night even though he has pneumonia, but I know he was just terrified that I would make good on my promise to move into his son’s room if I had to buy a new laptop that I couldn’t afford.

I also managed not to end up in twitter jail this year for tweeting too much! Huzzah for me! AND THE METS won on my birthday!

METS! WON! Huzzah!

Okay, so now you totally think the birthday post is over, right? And you’re like all ready to comment awesome comments and then… your phone rings and it’s KAZ AND TITO!

“Huh? what? No, the post is over guys, I’ve already ended it with my traditional “huzzah…” you’re on your way over? With my birthday key lime pie?!

“What? It’s not key lime?” O_O

“Oh, no, you were joking? It IS keylime! O-KAY! Then I guess the birthday post can continue for a little while longer.”

THAT TOTALLY HAPPENED! I had already left Pi’s house and was all “oh…no keylime pie…er…I mean no wonderful hanging out with Kaz and Tito.”

Not that I noted all those who weren’t there and put them on lists.

Oh, Pearatty was also all “yeah we’re flying out to Toronto,” in the first week of July. And I was all yeah “Toronto” suuurrreeee. I mean, no way is my adorable Arizona nephew flying East *during my birthday month* and NOT coming to see me in Brooklyn. Right? RIGHT? But, as if he could read my mind, her husband kept sending daily pictures like “here we are on the plane to Toronto.”

“Here we are landing in Toronto.”

“This is our hotel in Toronto.”

“Here we are eating the local Toronto dish of Toronto fried Toronto beans.”

Then, finally a shot of the whole family holding up a “seriously, Dawn, we’re in Toronto. We are not coming to your BBQ in Brooklyn. To-ron-to” sign.

I’m keeping the fresh towels out in the Pearatty suite, though, you know… just in case.

But yeah, so anyway, after the BBQ was over Kaz and Tito came by my apartment and we had birthday party number two…or three. I was all “wooo, I went from no key lime pie at all to key lime pie all for myself!”

“What do you mean, you are going to stay and eat key lime pie with me? Who says? That was not what I agreed to.”

But it was fun. Kaz played with the live angry birds even though something something open source freeware code. And we watched Machete and I learned that my George Foreman grill actually makes really good hamburgers and hot dogs VERY FAST!

Oh yes, it’s been a Dawn Summers BBQ everyday since then. OH and they got me THE. GREATEST. T-shirt. EVER.

Okay and now the birthday post is over.

*looks around* *checks phone* *checks mailbox*

Huzzah!

I got a present today that I can open tomorrow and everything…though the delicious aroma already tells me I know what it is!

My mom gave me a card. I was all “today isn’t my birthday.” She’s all “It’s around now isn’t it?”

O_o

Shady Pines, Ma, Shaaayyydeeeee Piiiinnnnneeesssss!

Where can I hire those guys with that thing that carried Cleopatra around? I have stuff to do!

This weekend should be fun. We’re cutting our hair off, manicure and pedicuring it up and *gasp* possibly doing that evil threading thing again…I haven’t decided…

Mets take on our dreaded mortal enemies today in Citifield. I wanted to go, but no car plus busy with the hair, so I’m going to settle for flatscreen viewage.

OH, so I’ve decided that this birthday season I want to taste moscato and absinthe. Plus, try poutine. Whatever that is.
Speaking of, Happy Canada Day to Astin and Pearatty, again, whatever that is.

Now, to avoid getting killed in a traffic accident…

Happy birthday season to me!!

Oh…wait…or is that tomorrow? Pout.

Stupid June.

I am getting a home television studio. Despite the cries and petitions being circulated by one three letter named lady whose name starts with T and ends with e and has an a in the middle, this is an AWESOME development. Hater.

When I return to blogging (uh, yeah, I’m still not back. This is an illussssiiioooonnn illllooooooooosssssssssssssiiiooon) I want to be more attentive and professional with my writing and posting, (ahem, thank you Alceste for noticing). So, we need an outlet for the lazy crazy!

Thus, we bring you Clareifeyes! (Named by this blog’s godfather, Peter, the totally not a donut stealer. )

On Liz Wheaton’s (though I think I’m more partial to ‘Eliza Wheaton’) suggestion, I’m getting a Kodak HD filmadoohickey (um? Camera?) and a tripod and remote control and extra rechargeable batteries! Wheee.)

Can anyone recommend easy to handle film editing software — preferably free and easily downloadable from the internets?

Also, what type of stuff do we want to see? I can write sitcoms, I can do reality, I can take you on tours of Brooklyn, ohhh…you can watch TV with me! Maybe I’ll do a cooking show for people who can’t cook which involves lots of mixing and microwaving. It’ll be exciting!

June 2009, Twitterland:

@realdawnsummers says Oh, my birthday is coming up. But as I am all shy and unassuming I won’t tell anybody.

@astinto says, hey @realdawnsummers isn’t your birthday coming up? I will make you a caramel cake!

@realdawnsummers: Oh you don’t have to go through all that trouble for little ole me, being that I am all shy and unassuming.

But @astinto insists! And makes an amazing superfantastic caramel cake for me, but when he tries to hand deliver it…on horseback, the mean border patrol guy will not allow baked goods to be brought into America. You know, because of the constant fear that jealous Canadians will try to poison us by capitalizing on our weakness for delicious, delicious baked goods. And so @astinto ate my delicious caramel cake all by himself. And probably gave some to the stupid cats just to spite me. Jerk.

So fast forward a year:

Oh, my gosh! For me? How did you even remember it was my birthday? I wonder what it could be?

CARAMEL CAKE! A lifetime supply of caramel cake!

Why, I am going to have me some cake RIGHT NOW!

OH NO. What the hell is this??? I have to COOK THIS CAKE? Damn you @astinto, damn you TO HAYLE! Why are you trying to have me burn my house down?? #RUDE.

Sure, the instructions seem simple enough…and no fire is required, but what the heck is this one tablespoon, one teaspoon thing? Really? They couldn’t just say three teaspoons? <_ < The last time I attempted a coffee cake in a bag, mixing project, well...actually, no need to revisit that unpleasantness. The aroma has mostly left the kitchen walls and my eyebrow has grown back nicely. But okay. I am a grown woman with TWO ivy League degrees, I CAN DO THIS! And if I can't, I will record every step and you will all see that the failure was NOT my fault, but the fault of this racist caramel cake. Here goes:

Step 1:

(Put cake mix in bowl.)

(Massage the caramel packet)

Step 3:

(Get one teaspoon of water and one tablespoon of water. You can’t see the water, but trust me.)

Step 4:

(Stir thouroughly.)

Step 5:

(Drizzle in the massaged caramel.)

Step 6:

(Microwave for 30 seconds…. yeah, I too am highly skeptical at this point.)

Step 7:

Allow to cool. (The picture makes my caramel cake look much more radioactive than it looked in real life.)

Step 8:

Enjoy! And I totally did! End product was moist and deliciously caramel cake-like!

I highly recommend this product if you are trying to amuse little kids. Like if I could do it, without burning anything or having a nervous breakdown, I figure it’d be perfect for three-five year olds. And they’ll get instant gratification. They will also probably end up fat and diabetic, but everybody has their crosses to bear, no?

Astin, also sent me the “And the Heart Says Whatever” book which Snaps recommended.

All in all a kick ass and delicious birthday package! Thanks!

I got back from my weekend getaway (I’m typing this on Malcolm and he kept autocorrecting ‘getaway’ to say ‘Jersey.’ Pretty much.) Anyway, my doorman hands me a super big box addressed to Dawn Summers! That’s me! That’s me!

And when I opened it, this is what I saw:

my first wrapped birthday present of the season!

Yay!

I’ll tell you what it is later (they, actually, he got me TWO presents! Yeah, winning the birthday season takes dedication!)

However, if I’m all getting presents, the birthday season must not be over, right? So I can get in another post…or two. (Be afraid Alceste, be very afraid! Yesterday he was doing a victory dance on twitter about my hiatus. Hmph. #RUDE Also, I AM NOT A PEDO, TAE! #NOPEDO) In essence, Astin also gave you all the gift of Dawn Summers. You’re welcome.

So what should I write about but THE poker blogger champion of the world himself!

Astin and his friends Em and Chinese Pete (Please note: Ed is neither Chinese, nor named Pete. We said Astin wins at birthday seasoning and poker blogger tournamenting, not nicknaming… Though, part of me has always kinda wanted to be known as Hanoi Jane (just the name in abstract sounds cool, not expressing any views on the actions of any persons real or imagined.) and as I’m not named Jane and have never been to Hanoi, Astin might be just the man to make this happen.) were visiting my fair city last week and as they had never been to any of “the boroughs” before, I insisted on showing off my Brooklyn.

My email of proposed activities was, therefore, quite long and ambitious. I promised carnivals, museums, parks, landmarks, architecture, history, fine cuisine, fashion, dinosaurs, air balloon rides, magic, sporting events (He’s Canadian. He doesn’t know that the Superbowl doesn’t happen in July…or in Brooklyn… O_O
*whistles*)

Naturally, he was totally in! I mean, the Superbowl AND dinosaurs! COME ON! I picked them up from their fancy Midtown hotel in the morning. It was also the morning after monkey paw wine and Mary was there all too happy to regale our guests with tales of the previous night’s shenanigans. Normally, this is where I would tell her to “shutuppa yo face,” but as I had no recollection of the evening, I too, was curious about what transpired. *Amy Winehouse shrug*

As we headed through New York’s second best borough on the way to Brooklyn, we ran into a street fair of some kind and had to take a detour. This detour took us pass “Crosby Street.” I booed. The Canadians cheered. (Note: Em is NOT Canadian. But, she has apparently been brainwashed by Canadians and pointing out that she is NOT Canadian could cause a fracture unless she is gently eased back into American life…or as we call it, “forced to live in Buffalo for a while.”)

Their cheering the cheating Crosby angered me, so I said, you like Canadia so much, you can all just walk to Brooklyn! And then I threw them out of the car. I didn’t mean Mary, but then she was all “yay! Walking is fun” and got out with them. Weirdo.

I felt kinda bad, so I decided to park in DUMBO (fake realtor created neighborhood for “the area down under the Brooklyn bridge. Or “Dumb.” Pretty much.) and went up to the bridge to find them.

Yup, they totally look like they had learned their lesson!

We strolled around the promenade area for a bit, but it was 110 degrees and watching all the dumb tourists lined up for Grimaldi’s pizza, made us hungry for real food. (Dear Clareified readers: DO NOT. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. STAND ON LINE WHEN THE “REWARD” AT THE END OF IT IS GRIMALDI’S PIZZA! Or a Magnolia cupcake. SERIOUSLY. Promise me. PLEASE. Double pinky swear. You’re all better than that. Yes. Even you!)
So, off we go to the land of delicious pizza, DiFara’s. Now, I never know if he is really going to be open or not, so I tried not to build it up too much, cause we might very well end up at L&B and they would LIKE IT. Dangnabit.

“Vinnay says this pizza ruined all other pizza in the world for him…nay all other food and now he drives 11 hours from Buffalo twice a day to get his fix! I’m SOOOOO looking forward to this!”

Well, so much for not building it up. Fingers crosssed…

BOOM! He was open. AND THERE WAS NO LINE! And then, I made the classic rookie mistake…decided to go park first. DAMN YOU, DAWN! DAMN YOU TO HELL!

By the time we got back, there was a line a sheet long and the wait was on. The hot, sweltering, standing up on the sidewalk wait.

30 minutes. Chinese Pete breaks down and goes to buy an ice cream cone.

60 minutes. I break down and buy the last slice offered in one of their stupid “by the slice pies”. I pepper it up like I like it, then realize I should offer a piece to my guests. Poor Astin gets a mouthful of pepper flakes. MAH BAD!

“Hey, there’s a guy in there who looks like Henry Winkler,” Mary says at minute 83.

I peer inside. “Dude, that is Henry Winkler.”

She goes and strikes up a conversation. I heard “EEEEHHHH” and saw lots of thumbs up through the window.

Or I imagined that. It was very hot and we were very hungry. Finally, the pie was ready and we went back to my aparment to eat it. Air conditioning! Chairs. I was totally ready to spend the rest of the day there.

“So…what up with the dinosaurs?”

Huh? What?

“And the museum and carnivals and parks?”

Look people, I gave you Difara’s! And now air conditioning and chairs! CHHHAAAIIIRRRSSSS!!!

Fine.

We hop back in Prince Eli and head for the Brooklyn museum. Which I TOTALLY knew where it was, no matter what stupidfaced Mary and her judgmental tone would suggest. I’ll JUDGE YOU RIGHT IN THE HEAD! (I did mention it was very hot, right?)

There was an Andy Warhol exhibit on, so we walked through that. I planted myself in front of the exhibit called “Andy Warhol TV.” It was a TV. Showing stuff. I dunno. There were chairs and it was air conditioned. It reminded me of the time I went to the musuem with F-train and Pearatty and we got separated, but F-train promptly found me in “movie theater” exhibit. He goes “I followed the sound of the TV and figured you’d be there.” And I was!

Anyway, then we lost Mary. Then Chinese Pete, who is Korean, decided to go look at the “Asian art” floor. When he left, Astin turned to Em and I and said, “I bet when he gets back he’s gonna complain that it was all Chinese art and they only had one Korean thing and it was from the Kim Jong Il collection.” We laughed and headed up to the top floor. Where we saw this cool exhibit:

It’s Farrah Fawcett AND MICHAEL JACKSON! Separated by McEnroe! He was spared! We also went to the Egyptian exhibit where we discovered that Frida Kahlo is a dang dirty plagerist who stole all her art from some unknown Egyptian painter! #truestory Also, does anyone get scared walking through museums that they’ll unlock an ancient curse through one of the artifacts? No? Um…me neither…but Astin was TOTALLY terrified the WHOLE time! I was like “aww, don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” But then he and Em went into the mummy exhibit and I screamed “You’re on your own!” and ran away.

You think I’m exaggerating.
O_O

When Chinese Pete came back he goes “Yeah, the whole thing is basically just Chinese art!” And Astin, Em and I start cracking up. Mary was still lost. Though, there was a pretty young schoolgirl waiting impatiently in the lobby of the musuem. But she was fawning over this little Asian toddler, so no way could it be our Mary… *Gasp* It was! (Ha! Told you, I would tell!) Mary was fawning over a chii–iildd. Mary was fawning over a chii-illd.

After that we went on a driving tour of Bed-Stuy. Em is a big Cosby Show fan, so I thought it’d be cool to see the neighborhood they were pretending that the Cosbys lived in. But then we saw a dude pretty much attack this poor girl and so I drove away very fast. Sadly, also not an exaggeration.

Next up: the carnivals! We went to Coney Island, walked the boardwalk and then *SOMEBODY* was all “Let’s ride the Cyclone.”

This seemed like a good idea right up until I had paid $8 to get on. And then we were on line. The line is caged in behind these white prison gates. I threaded my fingers through the gate holes and gripped them with white knuckled fear.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I DOING? AND WHY THE HELL HAD I JUST PAID MONEY TO DO IT?

The others found this amusing.

“You can’t back out now, Dawn, we’ll all make fun of you!”

Um…you all will be dead, I thought looking up at the rickety ass, loose boards on America’s oldest, shoddiest, wooden rollercoaster.

The line snaked closer to the ride.

I want out!

“Come on. You can’t back out. The Cyclone is an American treasure. To ride it is a sign of a true Patriot,” Astin said.

Hmm. Well, it is an American treasure. And I AM a Patriot! The Patriotiest Patriot there ever was, in fact!

He’s right! If I do NOT ride this ride, the terrorists will win! Up yours Bin Laden! And then I got in. And as it clacked upwards toward the first drop, I was all “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

And then Em’s boob made a jump for it!

And then all went black.

There were tears, and screams and promises to God if he would spare our lives. He did. We said “Ha! We had our fingers crossed!”

The night ended at my favorite seafood place in Sheepshead Bay. (Don’t worry, no sheep.) We had a hilarious time listening to the life and times of Toronto’s Young and Restless. Seriously, the couples that Astin knows need a reality show. And I don’t even like reality shows! Also, Chinese Pete gave us the primer on how NOT to break up with a girl. Kinda like this.

I met up with them later that week, and despite many efforts to divert our dinner to the most excellent Times Square T.G.I. Friday’s (possibly the most delicious of all the T.G.I. Fridayseseses) we ended up at a little Mexican place in Hell’s Kitchen. Or whatever ritzy name the realtors are calling Hell’s Kitchen now. It was quite delicious! They had this guacamole made with apples, that was quite awesomesauce! But Chinese Peter is allergic to apples, so he couldn’t have any. And then I laughed at him. And pointed. I mean, honestly, AN APPLE allergy?! I got my comeuppance though later that night when the waiter brought us a free chocolate cake dessert drizzled with delicious caramel sauce, but then topped with deadly poison nuts.

Ed was all eating it and going ” Ha ha who’s got the weirdo allergy now?!”

And then I was sad. (Still him though, nut allergies are perfectly normal. In fact, three out of four people eating dinner at our table at that restaurant that night had nut allergies, so there.) I had ordered the caramel flan, anyway, and was totally stuffed, but then Astin took a bite of Em’s lemon cake thing and made this face like it was the most amazing thing ever, so even though I was perfectly satiated, I made myself take a bite of it and it totally made me overstuffed to the point where my stomach hurt. Astin and his stupid stupid face.

Oh, this was also the terrible terrible night of discovering the Canadian invasion.

It started off friendly enough…stories about how Canadian talk show hosts are perverts who molest children, and then make parents eat chocolate chip cookies with ketchup in them. And then stories about how in Canada Orange is spelled with two A-s. Arange.

And then… “Ryan Reynolds is Canadian.”

“He is NOT. YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW.”

“Yah huh. And Nathan Fillion!”

NOOOOO.

“And Victor Garber.”

And then I started to cry. And they laughed. And Ed got out his phone – er sorry, his “device” or “blackberry” and googled “Dawn’s favorite celebrities are all Canadian” and proceeded to rattle off all the ways Dawn’s favorite celebrities are Canadian.

Except Tom Brady, Zac Efron and Jason Bay.

LA LA LA LA LA. I don’t want to hear the ends of any sentences.

This year that genius was this guy!

What these people fail to realize is that in the interim between them canceling and showing up, this what happens: I put them on lists! Bad, bad lists. I take them off other lists. Good, good lists. I make mini figures of them and set those on fire. AND THEN when they come I feel all bad and have to call off hitmen.

IT IS A LOT OF WORK!

But the cake was fairly hilarious

AND I have a new Mets fan in Buffalo! #Veryexcited

you wanna fight with the cake, go right ahead, but you’ll look pretty darn silly. Plus, that cake had backup:

Since turning 30, I am sleeping much more soundly though. Of course, now I’m afraid my body is just readying itself for death.

Hopefully that worry will start to keep me up again at night. This 9-10 hours of undisturbed sleep is kinda disturbing. I did have a fascinating historical dream the other day. I meant to google the facts to see if they were real or imagined.

I’m currently reading Oryx and Crake. And listening to the Wicked and Glee Volume 3 soundtracks. I’ve also seen 17 Again three times in the last 5 days. I am beyond spoiled.

Pearatty, Senor pearatty and Wygant got me Oryx and Crake because they are Canadian.

They also got me the ‘History of White People’ because they are white.

And they got me “Can’t Buy Me Love” because they are old. (Wygant added “I do not know why we got you this.”) Though, if they were really old, they would have gotten it for me on Beta max. Not that I know what that is. (Funny story, in Panama, Beta Max took off, much the way VHS did here in the States. So my octogenarian aunts always called the VCR “the Beta.” And even today they call DVDs “Beta tapes.” Weirdos.)

I hadn’t heard from Jake all day and so I texted him that I was reporting him to child protective services for forgetting his favorite child’s birthday. He replied that he had until midnight to deliver my gift. I said he didn’t have to get me anything, just shower me with nonstop praise and attention all day. He then replied he’d rather send cash. Which he promptly did. I should’ve asked for the Benz.

April and Ryan (Drobbski’s son) got me the current soundtracks of my life. There are dozens and dozens of Atlantic city poker players who HATE them.

Alceste and Dawn 2 got me Arrested Development, which made me sad again that it got canceled. Thanks guys. Hmph.

Someone got me 17 Again, and I put it in the Betamax immediately, there was no note though…but I suspect it was Angela. I know she somehow thinks we share Zac Efron. We do not. He is mine. All mine.

And someone got me a backgammon set…I suspect Jamie because now he has a backgammon blog and thinks he will be able to hustle me. Or maybe it was Fuelsellage as he lost a bet to me years ago, for which the prize was to be a backgammon game. Though, that would make it just about the worst birthday present from him ever.

Mary got me the dragon girl tattoo series, so now I can be all hip and cool (So long, I suppose, as I never say the title of it out loud!) OH but most hilariously, she wrapped the books in Miley Cyrus sticker covered paper! Did that sentence make sense? Do you get that the paper is covered with Miley stickers?

Here’s a picture:

Oh PI and Ugarles came to my mama’s house in ECB where that dang Sidney Star and his stupid brilliance and adorableness has pretty much stolen my mommy, upstaged me at my own party AND Jedi mind tricked me into thinking my ball was his ball!

#RUDE

Petitedov and the donut stealer got me a Yale blue cake from my favorite bakery and the It’s Always Sunny DVDs. Plus, they brought the elusive Pretty Numbers! Quell magnifique, nes pas? (Seriously, I don’t know what any of that means or where I pick up these things…)

Tito and Kaz very strangely just brought an empty pie plate. But there was a note inside that said I could redeem said plate for pie. I submitted the plate Monday and am waiting patiently for my pie. Actually, no it did come with pie, and at the end of the night, I refused to let anyone else have any and then I took the whole pie with me to Atlantic City and had keylime for every meal. Some people have a security blanket, I have a security pie. But then the internet told me I might have poisoned myself. Still? Totally worth it.

So that’s the birthday season so far. Birthday poker tournament is this weekend, I’m looking forward to it.

Huh, well, that’s kind of a flat ending.

How about this?

However, as she is also getting married soon, this year I will grant her the hours of noon to 11:30 pm to celebrate her birthday! You’re welcome!

Also, if the cellphone shots of herself in the dress shop mirror are any indication, all you other brides-to-be better get your weddings in now, cause Smokey is fixin to be the most gorgeous bride ever and all weddings will be ruined for everyone else into perpetuity.

Happy 11 and a half hours to you!

I have become obsessed with the music from the World Cup! It’s so get up and dance! This song comes in many different languages. I chose Spanish because I really need to brush up on my mother’s mother tongue. I am getting out-espanoltweeted by F-train on twitter!

F-trrrraaaaaiiiinnnnn! JAYSUS. Nobody tell.

Aww, speaking of F-train, did you all see his awesomepants post yesterday?

Sure, Dawn has her faults. Her memory is long. Cross her once and you might not find yourself ever able to cross her again. But Dawn knows that she has her faults. She doesn’t pretend they’re not there. That’s something that you can only respect in a person: a person who is secure enough in themselves to say “This is who I am. I am not perfect, but that’s fine.”

Except I do not remember ever saying that I wasn’t perfect. I mean, I am perfect, so saying that I’m not would mean that I was wrong. I am also never wrong. But other than that…spot on, job!

Also, Grange had a terrific post, my favorite part of which was his nicknames for my many internet presences:

Some of you may know the “Real Dawn Summers” (Twitter Ramblings, Annoying Non-Poker Blog, Obnoxious Poker Blog). I don’t. But somehow, despite never meeting this East Coast Nit Queen, I’ve made it on her short list of mortal enemies. Sweet.

My other mortal enemy Chilly, also dedicated blog space to yours truly, which I was tempted not to mention in this post, so he could throw another electronic hissy fit, since yesterday’s almost sent me to the hospital with an incurable case of the giggles. Seriously, I’m already starting to laugh again and I’m not even really thinking about it…hahahahahaha aw man, my stomach….but I LOVED this part of his post, so I have to quote it because, while not as hysterical as a Chilly temper tantrum, it’s TOTALLY true and hysterical in itself:

We have met face to face a couple of times. Although based on the fact that neither one of us really likes people it was basically a head nod and a return to drinking.

We must do better in December! Like maybe a head nod and some gun fingers!

And also, we’ll cannibalize Mary’s post for next year’s theme song, because they are way, way, WAY better than stupid Vinnay’s “you’re going to die now” birthday ditty. Please forward any information on the name of his band and where they will be playing next please. Videos also welcome.

Ooh and April dedicated her status to me. And now we’re running mates for the 2012 Presidential election. Vote for us. I don’t know what our platform is exactly, but I’m thinking something along the lines of the carrot and stick; except with cupcakes and sharks. Pretty boss.

Um…will write more about the birthday when the season ends, but had a blast yesterday! Even ended up in twitter jail for the first time…NOT COOL, man, NOT COOL! I have awesome friends, family, readers, commenters, followers!

Peace and chicken grease!

Dawn’s birthday is tomorrow and I didn’t get her anything, I’m totally freaking OUT! What should I do?

Relax. The most important thing is that you NOT PANIC.

Okay, well the most important thing is that you remembered before Friday. I shudder at the fate of those who don’t remember before Friday. Those poor bastards.
But that’s not you, you’re totally good and only moderately screwed.

Luckily for you, Dawn is a caring and benevolent ruler. And like all such rulers, Dawn wants to help you celebrate the wonderfulness of her.

Tomorrow is a good time to blog about Dawn, tweet about Dawn, leave lengthy and hilarious facebook wall posts about and for Dawn.

Say you have a blog, and you are in Toronto…ask yourself do I blogroll Dawn’s poker blog?

Or, if you have a blog and you are in Las Vegas. You may blogroll Dawn, but is she first? You may blogroll Dawn’s poker blog, but does it list “Dawn + X” as authors? Or worse “X+ Dawn”? Tomorrow would be the perfect day to update and cleanup these blogroll boo boos.

Are you on twitter?

Tomorrow would be a great time to do a #FRDS that’s right a “Follow RealDawnSummers.”

Are you not on twitter? Tomorrow would be the perfect day to join. And follow @realdawnsummers, tweet me happy birthday (Something like “Happy Birthday, @realdawnsummers will work) and then never log in again. Dawn is just padding her stats. Also, if you could get @conanobrien to follow me, that’d be clutch!

If you are F-train, you can drink lots and then tweet general observations for the rest of the day because that would be epic and really, would be a gift for all of twitter. See how generous, I am? Even on this, the eve of my birthday, I think of the good of the collective. Wait, that sounds a little commie. I think of the good of the collective, but in a capitalist way. Send me a dollar.

Better.

You can text and BBM hilarious jokes, touching memories of Dawn through the years, and/or send awesome pictures throughout the day. Oh, except you, you need to not ever text me again. Or e-mail. Eyeroll.

Also, if you have Tom Brady’s cellphone number, tomorrow would be an awesome day to give that to me. I swear, I’ll only use it on Saturdays during the football season! Pinky swear! That’s the most binding of swears!

Securing a President Obama press conference shoutout would also be pretty boss. President Clinton issued a Happy Birthday proclamation for me in 1996. I wonder if that’s binding for all future and past Presidents?!
I bet it is!

OMG Abraham Lincoln wished me Happy Birthday! WOW. Everyday my awesomeness simply grows and grows!

Oh, I’m sorry, I got distracted. This post is not about me, it’s about you.

You can also take this opportunity to trip my enemies. Or, if you are my enemy (looking at you Grange and Ken Wheaton) go ahead and trip yourselves. Twitpics or it didn’t happen.

Oh and comment comment comment! Tis the comments that feed the beast! Er…the awesome. The comments feed the awesome. Damn autocorrect.

So be of good cheer! There is plenty of time to be part of my born day celebrations!

So let’s get out there, have fun and win!

Or whatever Invictus was about.

And now for your moment of Zen:

*DANCES* *TWIRLS* *CATCHES BREATH* *TWIRLS*

I got my first present today! Yay!

*Does the running man in my chair because I am old and have bad knees*

THE EIGHTH OF JULY!

More easily remembered as 7/8. Cause eight naturally follows seven when counting. Unless you’re counting backwards, then it precedes it. But counting backwards is dumb. Unless it’s New Year’s, then it’s tradition.

It’s super black. Like Malcolm. And me.

Has anyone heard any drawbacks to the HTC Incredible? Or can any argument be made that the latest blackberry is just as good?

(Iphone is out of the question because AT&T bites it.)

UPDATE

Was just informed the Motorola Droid 2 is coming out next month, so I should hold off…

Ar! lour the half-sail–make me walk the wair;
some words are cool and others dinky.
(or corny as a half-turned quern by Clare
or maybe my diet ain’t sufficiently zincy.)

Floored and leveled by your polska kielbasa
I guess I’m just a scrabble mome.
None of these words have flown in la mia casa,
So a happy birthday ends this silly pome.

Hee heee (I really did play kielbasa! How awesome, am I?)

Thanks also to my dentist, who tortured me for an hour and then rendered my mouth and tongue useless for another three hours, for giving me back the ability to chew on both sides of my mouth without taking painkillers. Who’s got two thumbs and somehow managed to get a cavity on the face of her tooth? This guy!

Um, what else, Oh petitedov dedicated Birdhouse in Your Soul, to me on her blog without knowing it was one of my very absolute favorites (Me: I LOVE this song! I think I spent the whole of winter 2004 telling Karol that I was the only bee in her bonnet! And then she’d say “I don’t want *any* bees in my bonnet.) So I take this as a sign that my musical tastes are endorsed by petitedov and she’s really cool, so I must be really cool!
Best birthday tweet, besides my shout-outs from the twin pillars of the poker universe Pauly and Iggy, was from my personal one-man Canadian entertainment center: Astinto. Pronounced Eh-Stin-Toe (at least by me):

Rumour is it’s @dawnsummers birthday. I find this hard to believe as you’d think she’d give SOME indication of it.

Hahahaaha, ehstintoe spells funny.

By 5 o’clock I was giddy with the birthday fever and decided to leave work early, but as I had been all responsible and conscientious, I didn’t really have anywhere to go if I did leave early. So I texted Karol:
“Boy I wish I had somewhere to go on my birthday if I left work early. But since I don’t…I guess I’ll just stay at work…working…on my birthday…cause I have nowhere to go…”
Karol responds: Can you believe Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore are still together?
Epic Karol PHAIL! (Also Epic PHAIL to everyone who wished me “Happy 5th anniversary of 29″ or “Happy ’29th’ birthday” — besides I am fairly sure that when I turned 29 the first time, I celebrated my 25th birthday, so who’s really clever now?)
Therefore, I resorted to the one person biologically mandated to take pity on me on my birthday:
“Hi mommy! So, how are you? What’s going on?”
“What do you want?”
Hee hee.
My mommy agreed to cook me dinner and we had cake and ice cream and it was awesome! So take that stupidface, vasya!
Oh, yeah, I’m pretty sure that on twitter Karol and Snaps Wheaton said that I was white and “passing.” But especially Snaps.

U-S-A U-S-A U-S-A

I don’t know what it does. Or why one needs one. But I want it. And want it now.

I even wrote a song:

What do we want?
A Kindle!
When do we want it?
Now!

Is there a Kindle fairy that comes by? Is there a naughty/nice list kept by the Kindle Santa?

Cause I have been very very good.

The best even.

The following weekend, it was off to Montana for a weekend with the Jakes. I had stayed up all night, Karol pretended to stay up all night, Ari went to bed early and Pretty Numbers…well, I’m not sure, she has a bit of a magical quality about her, such that I never imagine that she either sleeps or wakes, she just is. Like magic.
We met up at the airport. I was in charge of picking up the Jake’s anniversary present–which was glass and delicate and so it was right away decided that I was to hand it over to a more responsible party. To wit: anybody else.
Pretty Numbers took over. And then we laughed about whether security would let her on board with it, since 1) It was wrapped and 2) it really wasn’t hers.
We passed the time with my “interesting stories of stuff I saw on youtube this week.”
Jake met us at the airport in Montana, looking very much the cowboy. And by that I mean he was wearing a cowboy hat. But he was wearing it very plausibly!
We stopped off for lunch at a diner at the side of a road and about twenty minutes later, I noticed Ari’s eyes darting and she was whispering.
“NO, the guy from Lost!”
I turned to look and there was Sawyer from Lost eating at the back of the restaurant.
He looked really small and I wasn’t sure it was him, till the other patrons also started whispering.
Pretty Numbers told me and Ari (because the rest of our party didn’t watch Lost and really couldn’t care less) to go ask him to take a picture with us. And well, since my inability to form words or sentences around famous people is damn well legendary…I begged off.
PN and Ari followed him out to the parking lot though, and snapped a shot.
We thanked Jake profusely, lunch AND a celebrity and we hadn’t even unpacked yet.
We got to Jake’s house in Big Sky a little before dinner.
WOW. WOW. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW.
I MEAN WOW.
DUDE.
Even if I were a better writer, I couldn’t describe this place.

IT HAD AN ELEVATOR.
Ari summed it up best when she said “I’m never going to be happy in my apartment ever again.”
We each got our own rooms, except for PN and Karol, who shared the Dawn Summers suite.
Each of our rooms had its own bathroom and shower. AND PLASMA.
Wait…why on earth did I leave there?
We had dinner at a lodge up in the mountains, and Karol and I tried to guess how much the musicians made. We decided not much, but guessed that they were happy enough.
I had my first drinks in two months since I was ordered not to drink anymore — you know, first Paris, then Lindsay, then Dawn. That night the girls sat in the hottub.
I took pictures.
“Don’t take pictures of my ass,” Ari said as she climbed in.
Click.
Don’t people know me well enough by now, to know better than to tell me not to do something?
I went downstairs to get my internet fix and I got a text from Fisch saying that I had made the Scrabble report for second most bingoes in a night! Which, let me tell you, is pretty darn good. Did I mention that I have a Scrabble blog?
But, for the most part, cellphone wireless was rather spotty, so I shut off the phone and spent the night taking in the natural beauty of the Montana mountains. Ok, fine. I spent the night watching the Dreamgirls movie on my plasma. Sue me.
The next day, we set out early for Yellowstone. (After a delicious breakfast of waffles and huckleberry. Turns out huckleberry is a real thing and not just somethingHigh On Poker says at the poker table when he’s donkey calling.) Karol rode up front with Jake in the Jeep, while the rest of us rode with Mrs. Jake in air conditioning. Suckers.
When we reached the first geyser…Ari said something like “God lives here.”
And then I said “no way…God totally lives in New York.”
Which then triggered the “is God here or in an internet cafe in Soho” debate of 2007. (Leave your thoughts in the comment section.)
We had a picnic lunch in the great outdoors, surrounded by squirrels and birds and trees and fresh air. But don’t worry. I made it out safely.
We were all trying to take the most adorable pictures for our myspace pages, I won. Hands down. No question about it.
Is there anyone cuter than Dawn?

Seriously. How do I do it?
Anyway, sorry, got distracted by my own adorableness. It happens. Just one of the many burdens the beautiful have to bear.
We leave the big geyser that goes off faithfully since times of Old…I can’t remember the name, and it suddenly starts to HAIL. IN THE MIDDLE OF JULY! We pull over and lose track of the Jeep. So, we start to call them on the car phone (that’s right…not a cell phone, like you common people. A PHONE. BUILT INTO THE CAR. Why oh why did I leave there?) No answer from Karol or Jake.
The Jeep is not to be seen.
After twenty minutes, I come to the only logical conclusion.
They are dead.
The jeep couldn’t handle the hail and they went off the side of the mountain to their fiery deaths.
Karol had borrowed my camera and Jake was a terrific person, so I was understandably upset over the loss of him and the camera.
I decided I’d have lunch with Ronnie every week just to make sure he was okay.
I made my peace with having to buy a new camera.
Having lost the Jeep, the rest of us headed back to town and went to see a movie.
After the movie, who should come sauntering up, but Karol.
“You guys missed the BEST part of Yellowstone!! We saw buffalo and waterfalls and unicorns and mermaids and we each got a pot of gold coins to take home. It was awesome.”
Dude.
What was I thinking? This is Karol. I think she’s dead, but no, she’s swimming in gold coins with mermaids.
Everything always works out for Karol. Life Rule #9.
That night we went to the rodeo and I decided that I was going to write a hit TV show for NBC about a rodeo. I’m going to call it “7 seconds” and it’ll be packaged with Friday Night Lights.
I am going to make 30 million dollars.
And then, I’m going to buy the Angels and move them to Montana.
The rodeo was a little less…um…polished than the one I went to with Nora in Texas. In this one, none of the cowboys stayed on the bull for 7 seconds, none of them could lasso the calf and the clown was terrible.
At one point he was all “hey, would any of the ladies out there date me” and then he was all “I’d like to put my mother in law on that horse.”
“Wait,” I asked Ari all puzzled, “wasn’t he just asking for dates?”
“He’s a rodeo clown, dude. Just go with it.”
“Oohhh… yeeaaahhh.”
That night Mrs. Jake told us we had to clean up our rooms, and make our beds in the morning. Panic set in.
“Bed making?”
I don’t have any tools…or carpentry experience! What would Jesus do, indeed!
“Oh…changing sheets? And pillow cases?” Huh…yeah, I don’t know how to do that either.
Mercifully, it turns out she didn’t have any new sheets for my room, so all I had to do was take off the old ones. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I didn’t want to be banned from Montana!
Seeing as how no one wanted to play poker with me, even though I brought chips AND a button with a built in clock!!!! I retreated back to the world where Beyonce is considered the weak singer in a group that includes a girl that lost on American Idol.
I was up very early the next morning and at breakfast, ordered up some pancakes…while PN had troutcakes or something.
“I so knew you were going to order that,” Karol said to PN, “and I knew Dawn was going to get regular pancakes.”
We made one last stop before the airport to buy some knick knacks for the folks back home and then made our way to the plane.
Goodbye Montana. See you again next year.

I readied myself for my final trip of the season. The annual surprise party at Pearatty’s.
Mr. Pearatty picked me up from the airport and took me to see the Long Beach marina where the Trans Pacific boat race leaves from. As he was walking me past all the sights, he suddenly says “has there been something that you love talking about, but no one else cares?” I don’t know what prompted that, I thought I had been looking very interested up until that point, but I went with it. “Yeah, Scrabble. Nobody else cares about my tile problems.” “Ha! Yeah, well I think talking about the Trans Pacific boat race is like…I’m just talking Scrabble.”
We went out to dinner and I told her of my birthday season woes. “Yeah, so this girl totally invited some weird guy to my house and then didn’t even show up, AND Kaz didn’t come because she had to go to a stupid funeral and then I was sooo scared I wouldn’t be invited back because I didn’t know how to make a bed and then I thought Karol was dead, but then she wasn’t.”
“Don’t worry Dawn! Your luck is changing, I can feel it! Hey, Fisch was going to surprise you by coming, but then he had something at work and now he’s not coming…huh…ok…I guess that wasn’t the best example of your luck changing.”
I laughed.
And then the waitress brought me a free cake with a candle in it and sang me happy birthday.
“There! See! It’s turning!” Pearatty said triumphantly.
Yes, indeed. It was turning.
That morning we had breakfast at Roscoe’s “Chicken N Waffles.” I had been giving the pearattys the business all weekend because I’ve been visiting them for five years and they never once took me to Roscoe’s. And come on, who doesn’t want Chicken N Waffles? Who?
Roscoe’s is located in the Pasadena ghetto.
I only mention that because when I ordered a “caffe latte,” pearatty laughed so hard, she snorted. And the waiter looked at me like I had two heads.
“See, Dawn? That is why we never brought you here. Latte. HAHAHAHAHAHHA”
When it was time to order, I said “I’d like a waffle, three chicken wings and cornbread.”
The waiter was like “You mean a number six?”
And sure enough, there, on the menu, was a pre-printed number six, with not two chicken wings or four chicken wings…but exactly three!
What a country.
We went shopping for the party at Vons and I asked pearatty where Paris Hilton lived. “Um…I dunno…Beverly Hills, probably.”
“Oh, so we probably won’t see her here?”
“Dude, we probably wouldn’t see her in Beverly Hills’ Vons either.”
I laughed.
At partytime, the air was cool, much better than last year’s record 116 degree heat.
The beer bottles were in the tubs AND pearatty bought me my very first box of wine.
I very excitedly tapped the spigot and poured myself a glass of pink blush zinfandel. I took a deep drink and promptly spit it out.
THAT WAS GROSSSSS.
Mr. Pearatty brought out an old Christmas tree for us to burn and we sat around the fire eating burgers and corn, when I looked up and saw Kaz walking down the stairs from pearatty’s house.OHMYGOD!
“What are you doing here??!?!?!”
“Surprise!”
Kaz flew allllll the way to California for my birthday party. Which is way cooler than F-train’s just happening to be in California because he was taking the bar.
AND TITO –the piemaker– was there. Now, as I’ve mentioned before, last January, I tasted the very best pie, I have ever tasted. And I am generally not a pie person (fat kids, they love the cake.) and so as soon as I saw him I was all…maybe he has pie! I mean, I don’t see any pie…but he might have it in his pocket or something.
So, then Kaz started to say how she tried to find a Harry Potter cake, but they were out, so they got a different ice cream cake. So, I dared to blurt out what was in my head:
“AND PIE? IS THERE KEY LIME PIE?”
And she looked crestfallen and she said to Tito “I told you, you should have made the key lime.”
And he shrugged his shoulders as if to say “well, too bad…it’s cherry and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
I felt all bad.
“Oh, it’s ok…I was just kidding…I’m very happy with whatever inferior pie you happen to have with you.” I was totally lying. But I don’t think they noticed. I am very stoic when I want to be.
I hung out with them for a little while, before getting into a political conversation with George and Mr. Pearatty (who amusingly are at polar extremes on the spectrum). (Funny sidenote: I was talking with Mr. Pearatty about who he likes for President in ’08 and when he said “Giuliani” I was like, come on, guy, he seems good for a muncipality…don’t you want someone for President who has big ideas? And he looked at me and said “Dawn, I don’t want a guy with big ideas. Big ideas are never good. That’s why they have that phrase ‘what’s the big idea?” And not in a positive way.”)
Kaz and Pearatty disappeared into the house and when they emerged, they had two pastries in their hands, one of which was alit with candles.
As they got closer, I saw….KEY LIME PIE!
HOORAY!!!
I blew out the candles and served the ice cream cake. I gave myself the biggest piece of key lime pie ever ever.
“So are you happy,” pearatty asked as I was stuffing my face.
“YES! DUDE! It’s key lime pie! THE PIE! I am very easy to please.”
Pearatty thought about this for a moment and replied.
“Actually…Kaz had to fly here from New York and Tito had to bake a pie from scratch and not just any pie, it had to be key lime…so actually, you’re pretty hard to please.”
I laughed.
Yeah, I really am.
We spent the rest of the night drinking wine and beer…I believe pearatty actually got drunk enough to drink the wine in a box.
After the coals in the grill died down, we took to grilling hot dogs on a hanger over the christmas tree flame.
I got tired after like two minutes of holding it, and the hanger got too hot, so I gave up.
Pearatty declared that I would not survive not one hour in the wilderness.
She then got up to grill her hot dog.
It was so plump and juicy and dark and grilled to perfection that I called “Birthday Season!” And snatched it off her plate, just as she was about to eat it.
Mmm…stealing the hot dog made it taste even better.
We stayed up talking and giggling through the night and when morning came, we met up with Tito and Kaz and had brunch aboard the Queen Mary.
I returned to New York convinced that my luck had changed.
I had the annual Dawn Summers poker tournament at my house, where I didn’t lose money playing poker for the first time in July and Fisch even managed to make it back to New York for the final day of the Dawn Summers birthday season, which was chock full of Scrabble and drinks at the diner.

That’s right eight drinks, six entrees, two people. NG.
So, alls well that ends well.
Five states, four cakes, countless good friends and good times.