My birthday weekend was great. Went to a hotel (that really shouldn't have opened yet. Complaint mail is forthcoming), hung out not-at-home. Had a great dinner with friends. Was given an AWESOME camera from people who can't take "no presents" for an answer. Ate at Il Raddichio (hole in the wall spaghetteria which at least at one point in time was owned by Roberto Donna but might not be anymore), saw a movie, took lots of pictures.

Today my mom (who by turns surprises me with her thoughtfulness and disappoints and upsets me with her complete lack of awareness for my feelings) sent me a stand mixer. I've never told her how badly I've wanted one for a few years but could never justify it to myself. There's no way she knew. But somehow she knew.

I still have a cold. It's been a full week and I'm officially fucking sick of this shit. It needs to go away NOW. NOW NOW NOW.

I'm 30 years old now. I feel pretty much exactly how I felt when I was 25 or so. Karl spent half an hour the other night trying to convince me that I'm a professional in my field and that I'm an expert at what I do and that to have your own business in this field without a college degree or training prior to starting 4 years ago is a huge deal. I don't feel it. Hopefully at some point I will. I just know he's proud of me and even if *I* don't feel that, I do feel really good about making him feel proud.