Let the party begin!

So Arisia begins tomorrow [cue unseemly squealing noises], which means today will be spent working, packing and recovering from yesterday's Xtreme Snow Removal. I'm realizing, however, that I still have not posted my full 40th birthday weekend report, which is especially egregious in light of it being the BEST FRICKING BIRTHDAY EVER. So since I seem to be up earlier than anticipated this morning, let me attempt to slam this out as quickly as possible:

Breakfast in Bed! figmentj spent the night on Thursday, and helped me greet the dawn with a plate heaped with thick bacon and French toast and a big glass of orange juice. I knew it was coming, but it still made me all swoony.

Work! ...okay, that part I could have done without. But I did talk my manager into springing me a bit early, and in my absence figmentj, who had already both cooked and done the dishes, cleaned my room unbidden. The woman is spoiling me rotten, people.

Duck leg confit! I waffled on where I wanted to have dinner—Legal Seafood, choice #1, was deemed too pricey, and Christopher's, choice #2, just wasn't grand enough for such an austere occasion. So we decided to punt by heading for Harvard Square and seeing what transpired. The result was Russell House Tavern, where I had, yes, duck leg confit with figs, braised pork belly, roasted chestnuts and the succulent flesh of wayward seraphim, and figmentj got a pizza that from what I can tell was made with the gods' infinite love and unconditional oral sex. Yeah, it was that good.

Cocoa! There was time. It was in the neighborhood. We went to Burdick's. 'Nuff said.

Burlesque circus! The highlight of my birthday proper, though, had to be the Bohemian Bacchanalia, an evening of aerialists, jugglers, burlesque, and Emperor Norton's Stationary Marching Band, who, not content with tearing the roof off the Oberon, left a mile-wide crater where once their rockin' stood. The show ended up spilling into the crowd, and I distinctly remember a moment when my head was spinning and my feet sore, looking around at the gathered faithful and realizing that I was knee-deep in the freak show, and that I can't for the life of me recall a time when I was happier. It was somewhere in the middle of it that I adjusted my attitude from "f*ck, I'm 40" to "f*ck it, I'm 40," which is why we ended up dancing our proverbial faces off, and also why my shirt managed to vanish while my vest remained buttoned. Huh. (Also? Clara LaFrance's aerial silks routine. This one. Right over our heads. Only with Emperor Norton's playing "Glory Box." It took an act of will not to engage in lascivious and sweaty activities with the fetching young lady next to me right there on the dance floor.)

The big dinner! Oh. My. Gods, do I feel loved. Dinner on Saturday at Not Your Average Joe's was the one for the crowd, and a crowd there was (hoping I don't forget anyone): figmentj, fiddle_dragon, zeyr, shadesong, yendi, Elayna, wired_lizard, mllelaurel, eustaciavye, nevacaruso, intuition_1st, kissoflife, ckd, feste_sylvain...goddammit, I'm missing some, aren't I? Gahh! Speak up in comments, please! You're all awesome! I adore every last one of you!

Games! fiddle_dragon, zeyr and wired_lizard graciously offered to host the gaming portion of the evening, where we were joined by anotherjen and dimers. It was here that I had my formal introduction to Dominion, which proved such a quick and massive addiction that I ended up bringing my copy back over 12 hours later because I was jonesing like whoa. Yay, crack!

And the gifts! They deserve their own entry, and I'm late for work, so watch this space. Suffice it to say, though? SQUEALING NOISE!