I'd be more excited if we weren't getting 1-2 feet of snow today and tomorrow. My birthday cake will be made of snowballs. Hopefully not the yellow ones.
The past two days, Children of the 90s recapped famous kids(that we hate) born in the '90s, and Jenners recapped birthdays throughout her life. Thanks again to those two for making my writing skills look bad.
Speaking of great bloggers, Anna Lefler is in the hizzouse today (It's my birthday and I can used dated Snoop Dogg references if I want to) to wrap up the guest posts. She's got a bit of a surprise announcement to make, too, one that will shock my parents.
After you read it, check out her blog, Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder, including a hilarious post on "Suggested Engine Sounds To Be Installed on Electric Cars."
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Happy Birthday, Bro!
Not many people know this, but Andy and I are related. That's right – we're kin!
And when I say "not many people," I'm not kidding because, um, I don't think Andy knew it either. But the way I figure, what better day than today to let him in on the fabulous news: we're brother and sister! I know. I'm blown away all over again.
I'll never forget that day, Andy, so many years ago - the number of which is really immaterial – when our father (whom we amusingly referred to as "Fred MacMurray") brought you home from the hospital. It was such a joyous scene when Mr. French threw open those double doors with the unspeakably chic knobs right in their centers and there you were, nestled in Ellie Mae's arms as Jethro whooped and threw his hat down the hallway.
I was so excited to meet you, partly because I'd always wanted a baby brother, but also because I was hoping you might know where Mom was. She never seemed to be around like other kids' mothers.
Oh, sure, I caught glimpses of her over the years. Once I saw her disappear around the hog shed wearing a chiffon dressing gown and fierce French twist and I remember wondering where she'd gotten that Hungarian accent. (No one else in our little town of Petticoat Junction had one.) Then there was the time I saw a woman in capris rustling around in our daisy bed. I scampered across the yard but before I could reach her, she twitched her nose and disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.
Even though Mom was missing, we had plenty of people in our lives who kept things interesting. There was Uncle Charley – remember him? He taught us how to swear and give homemade tattoos. And Uncle Bill who, come to think of it, looked a lot like Dad. And of course Uncle Arthur, my favorite. I loved his laugh; it sounded just like Paul Lynde's.
I guess you may not remember much of this because you were still quite young when you went to live with that family on the hill. They seemed like a nice bunch, even though the dad was a little green and flat-headed for my taste and the really hairy guy with the glasses and bowler hat kind of freaked me out.
I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for not keeping in better touch over the years, Andy. You see, once our first single went to the top of the charts and we started touring full-time in our patchwork bus, life got crazy. Between concerts and all those screaming teenagers, I barely had time to keep my tambourine tightened. Then, when I heard about the S.S. Minnow being lost at sea, I was so relieved to learn that you weren't among the passengers, especially in light of your hammock and coconut phobias.
And so, all these years later, I'm tickled to be here on your special day to reconnect, wish you happy birthday and say how proud I am to have you for a brother. I sure wish I could stay and have some birthday cake with you, Chachi and Mork, but Schneider's coming by and fix my kitchen faucet so I'd better get back to my de-luxe apartment in the sky. We're still on for tennis tomorrow with Bob and Emily, right?
Excellent.
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