Okay, yeah, you guys totally got me.

I've been hearing for weeks about the preparations for my birthday party, even hearing that it would be a surprise party, but when we walked in there, I just had no idea.

It's silly if you think about it. I didn't put two and two together when they were fitting me for the hat or putting me in the car saying "Okay, let's go to your birthday party." I can admit I probably should have seen it coming, but I just didn't.

So as depressing as it may sound, I've never had a birthday party before. I know, I know, it just doesn't seem right. Here I've been alive quite nearly a year, and yet no party. Inhumane, unjust, all that good stuff.

For those of you out of "the know" I'll run over the anatomy of a perfect birthday party, as I see it.

	It's important to have your party horn ready for when everybody is done singing that song, so I prepared good and long. I had it ready to slobber on. Mind you, I used to be a world-class slobberer when I was younger, and it wasn't until more recently that my slobbering skills fell off. Sadly, with all the excitement, after the party horn's necessity had died out, I held on to them for a long time. In part because I forgot I had them in hand, and in part because they were all pretty and stuff.
	Once equipped with horn(s), you have to don the party hat. Seems a bit excessive at that point perhaps, but I figured, heck, why not? Besides, how often does one get to wear a hat for their first birthday? Exactly, it ain't often. Given the chance, I say take it.
	Never forget your obligatory cake slapping. Everybody will sing this disenheartening dirge to you while your cake is aflame by any of a variety of silly candle. Mine was really sad. The poor thing was on fire and wax was melting onto the cake. It was no good for anyone involved.
	Then comes the cake devouring. Oh what a sloppy delight. How pleasing, how pleasant, how simply disgusting all around. Though it may look like I'm eating a salisbury steak with extra gravy, it was just me making my way through the quadruple chocolate attack that the cake truly was. It's pretty standard stuff I'm told.
	Then you have to stand in front of the presents while everyone takes pictures of you with all of them. Apparently everyone grows up complaining about how bad their childhood life was and how nobody loved them and they never got presents on their birthdays... Okay fine, yeah, I'm loved, I get presents on my birthday, we're all very impressed, and it's all documented... now can I open them?
	Then comes the mad unwrapping of presents. It's pretty fun once you get the hang of it, but it's no easy task. For some of them I needed a little help and for others I needed brother to do all the work for me. It's still fun because just like with Christmas, all the presents are mine and so is the wrapping paper.
	I got to test out all my presents with special emphasis on the loud ones as well as the very, very loud ones. These here are my new Moroccans, which is odd since they say "Heche en Mexico" on the bottom. Call 'em what you like, I call 'em loud and they call me shake, shake.

Of course, now that the party's over and I'm one-ish, I'm told I have to figure out what to do with my life... that's a major downer, all things considered. Hm... guess I'll get on that for tomorrow. What to do with my life? Man, that's just no fun at all. Whatever happened to my childhood?

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