My city, your mountains

Party under the tree, originally uploaded by ClatieK.

Hello! I am back from my trip. I took 579 pictures, which I will upload one day at a time so as not to break Flickr. If you are my parents or one of the people I hung out with while in London or Paris, I’m sure you will be really excited about this.

On Saturday, Ryan and I had our traditional shared birthday party, this time at Prospect Park, because we thought there was less of a chance of the cops showing up at the park. The cops stayed away, but the rain came, but everyone stayed, and even continued to barbecue under umbrellas. This was really nice, and now I know who my real friends are, should I ever become insanely wealthy and decide to start writing checks.

So, I’m thirty now. I guess I need to buy eye cream or something? But not freak out about not being on the baby train, because hooooo boy. No. Yesterday I was at Target and the woman in line behind me was trying to reason with a screaming toddler, who, big surprise, wasn’t having any of it, and I couldn’t help sighing contentedly to myself as I walked away. It’s okay; I’m sure all kinds of smug karma will be revisited upon me tenfold when I do eventually have children, probably in the form of puke, which Satan knows is the only thing I can’t handle (not counting people talking like the Elephant Man).

I was in the cab back from the airport the other night, and we were listening to some radio station with late-night requests and dedications, and I was like, “Man! I wish that still happened!” and then this guy came on and requested “Leather & Lace” by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley, and I was like, “MAN! I have got to get a boyfriend!” Preferably Todd from Jersey, but I hear he’s pretty dedicated to his #1 lady Tina.

Cab/airport sidenote: Whenever I’m in a cab headed to the airport, and we pass under that sign that says “ARRIVING FLIGHTS / DEPARTING FLIGHTS,” I always have this fleeting moment of Waaait, which am I?, because they both make sense to my brain. It’s a good thing I don’t arrive at the airport stoned, because I’d never make it out of the cab.