fête à moi

the cancellation of this year's intended sequel (with a new but equally debaucherous theme) to last year's joint celebratory initiative (the three tarts invite you to come as your inner trollop or midnight cowboy, or leave your pants at the door) gave way to an altogether different kind of birthday for me. it has been fucking amazing. and restorative. and heartening.

it all started last thursday when claude surprised me with tickets to see the royal winnipeg ballet perform carmina burana at the nac. first of all, that piece of music is one of my all-time favourites and secondly, one of this country's premier dance companies muthafucka? i couldn't have imagined how desperately in need i have been for live classical performing arts. my spirit had to undo the top button to let it all hang out after having devoured the experience like a starved lunatic. and then she soared.

then on saturday, steve took me to le tartuffe for what can only be described as a gastronomic mind fuck. we ogled each new course with child-like glee, savoured every bite with drama. the food, the wine, the atmosphere (thankfully unpretentious), and of course, the company - are you kidding me? just the blissful intoxication i needed. he did really well this weekend, on several levels. and he needed to. but more than that, he lifted me up in the way that only he can.

today (yesterday by now), i received a disturbing number of warbly renditions by phone of you know which song. and then tonight, some of the grrls treated me to a delightful evening at absinthe cafe. to be in the company of the perfect handful of good friends enjoying scrumptious cuisine and delicious grrl-talk. we should all be so lucky. and i so am. so while wine glasses were clinking in honour of me, i made a silent toast to myself. for getting it.