Happy Birthday To Me...

So monday was my birthday. 27 years in this world, and how did I celebrate it?

1. woken (barely) by Phil at 4.30am as he left for a shoot out of the city, not to arrive back home til after 9pm that night.
2. woke again at 10am by a coughing fit eminating from deep within the phlegmy recesses of my own lungs. Reminded again that I have ANOTHER horrid cold, and suspected bronchitis.
3. burn two pots of coffee, before finally getting it right on the third go.
4. sit down at my computer to realise that the Chinese govt has blocked blogger again and my blog is f^#*ed. Scream obcenities at the computer, at blogger beta and at China in general.
5. took mum and dad to the fabric market to have cashmere winter coats tailor made, and then to the antiques market to buy last minute souvenirs, haggling the stall owners in both markets to within an inch of their lives- inducing another coughing fit, weak-kneed dizzyness and nasty snappy behaviour from myself.
6. by this time it is 5pm and so we go home.
7. discover that one of the rabbit has a cold, google it, and find that without medical intervention he could die. Stress about how to pay for vet bills that are more expensive than human dr bills.
8. decide to cook pasta-bake for dinner- though mum has to have wheat free pasta and no cheese, and Phil wants the same as me and dad, yet with tuna added. Try to figure out how to fit three pasta dishes into our little taoster oven and decide that mum has allergy, but Phil is just being selective- no tuna pasta for him.
9. Start cooking to find we are out of pasta sauce.
10. go to supermarket to buy pasta sauce. Buy some more pasta while I'm at it.
11. get home and tip an entire new packet of pasta into boiling water and watch about 50 black bugs float to the surface.
12. tip out pasta, boil new water, and start again.
13. discover I am out of butter for bechemel sauce. Use olive oil instead.
14. leave the kitchen to sit down on the couch at 9pm, at which point Phil walks in, sees me on the couch only to think I've been lazing about all day. (of course he doesn't think that but it feels like it).
15. go to the fridge to get him a beer (like the good little house-wife I am) and find that our stupid arctic fridge has frozen the beer bottle. Phil opens it before it can explode on its own, and of course it explodes everywhere, all over us and the kitchen. Clean up.
15. Finally eat dinner at 9.30pm.

Happy birthday me.

PS. Thanks Dan for setting up the email blogging for me- a stop-gap til I figure out how to properly use my blog again.
PPS. I did have a birthday dinner with Phil and the 'rents on Sunday night, which was lovely, but it never feels like your birthday when you do it before hand.
PPPS. I'll stop whinging now.