Orange Madness

The ball is tipped and there you are.  You’re running for your life, you’re a shooting star. And all those years no one knows.  Just how hard you worked, but now it shooooooooooooooooooooooooows… 

Could Luther Vandross have sung a more inspirational song? I think not.  Today, bloggies, begins possibly my most favorite sports event of the year…the NCAA tournament.  I love college basketball.  Specifically Syracuse basketball. Seriously love.  I know that I write “I love this” and “I love that” pretty often in this blog, but if you know me in real life, this is NO JOKE. I often change my Facebook profile picture during the the season to reflect my love for the team. When it comes to college basketball I will stop at nothing to watch the game.  I rearrange my already packed DVR in order to watch live.  With my fellow fan friend Laura, I usually watch most games.  If we aren’t together, our texts during the games are epic.  And when it comes to March Madness, my common response to emails about future plans is “I can not commit to any plans until the bracket is released”. Nothing comes between me and my love for the Orange.

Have you ever been to the Carrier Dome for a basketball game before?  Well, put it on your bucket list, sports fans.  It is an incredible place to watch a basketball game.  On my 19th birthday, while all of my other freshman girlfriends were going through the rush process, my 3 guy friends took me to a Cuse V Seton Hall (ironically, my hometown team) basketball game.  Though I wasn’t 100% sure what was going on during the game (seriously, it has taken me 12 years of fandom to figure out the significance of the 2:3 zone), the feeling in the Carrier Dome that night was electrifying!  They don’t call it the loud house for nothing.  The building literally rocks during the entire game.  Otto runs the perimeter of the court and the sea of orange fans chant “F* ’em up, F* ’em up, GO SU!” Even the Dunkin Bright halftime show gets more applause than some Knicks games I’ve been to. I was addicted!

My first two years at school, the team wasn’t so great.  And then…and then came the 2002-2003 basketball season.  Carmelo.  Gerry.  Hakim.  Kueth.  Jeremy.  Love love love love love.  This team.  This glorious team.  As I spent the winter of 2003 studying abroad in London; the Syracuse basketball team was making its way through the regular season, the Big East Tournament, and through the field of 64 to find themselves in the National Championship game.  The other abroadies and I would hang out at the Sports Cafe in Piccadilly to   watch all of the games.  After each ulcer-inducing gut-wrenching game, I remember screaming into my pay-as-you-go cell phone every night to my dad after each win “We are a second half team! I knew we were going to do it!” 

That championship game night is something I will never forget. Since the game started at 2am London time, we had made special arrangements that the Sports Cafe would stay open for us to watch.  Decked in head to toe Syracuse gear, we all filed into the bar where they set up a huge screen for us to watch the game.  A tense and exhausting few hours to say the least, when Hakim Warrick blocked Kansas’ game tying shot to win the game, it was all worth it!! We ran through the streets of London as if we owned them-and we did as it was 5am!  People jumped in the fountains, we screamed through the streets, we called our friends who were celebrating on Marshall Street.  WE WERE THE CHAMPIONS!

But being a Syracuse Basketball fan isn’t always sunshine and championships.  This year alone we dealt with the Bernie Fine allegations and the double suspension of (not so) Fab Melo. Billy Edelin was suspended in 2001 for misconduct with a female student (then disappeared off the face of the earth).  Arinze Onuaku suffered a (basically) career ending injury during the 2010 Big East Tournament.  We prematurely lost players to the NBA draft: Jonny Flynn, Wes Johnson, Paul Harris, Carmelo Anthony-probably Dion Waiters this year.  And let’s NOT discuss the excruciating loss to Vermont in the first round of the 2005  tournament.  I am STILL trying to recover from that game.

What, or should I say who, gets me from season to season is the man himself, James (Jim) Arthur Boeheim.  He is my spiritual leader.  He is my true center.  If he wanted me to join a cult I’d say “where’s the kool-aid and matching sneakers?”.  He is the glue that holds the team and it’s fans together.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, no matter what political party he is a part of, I would vote Boeheim for President.  He is the 3rd most winningest (is that a word?!) coach in college basketball and the 1st most winningest in my heart.  The team line-up changes year to year, but he is the one constant the Orange fans have.  His coaching style is like a dad…tough love.  He’ll sit a player in the “punishment chair” after a horrendous play, but then highlight their strength of character in a post game interview.  He’s taught the players that it isn’t about the individual, it’s about the team.  He genuinely loves Syracuse and Syracuse genuinely loves him.  Not to mention the fact that his face looks like it’s made of silly putty and his side-court hand gestures have made me believe that his wrist joints don’t exist. 

On a personal note (well, this is my blog, so it is ALL a personal note), the biggest Robin family March Madness nightmare is slowly becoming a reality.  My beloved Orange could possibly meet my sister’s Wisconsin Badgers in the Sweet 16 round.  For my father, I think this would be his own personal hell.  He will be democratic and wear gear from both schools, but without a doubt he will not pick up a phone call from either of his daughters, and will probably watch the game alone…in a closet…trying not to root for anyone.  For me, if (when) Syracuse beats Wisconsin it will be my own personal victory.  Take THAT admissions office in Madison!!

At 3:10pm today, Syracuse tips off against UNC-Ashville in the first round of the 2012 NCAA Tournament.  And even though we are ranked #1 in the East Region, it is not going to be an easy road to New Orleans for us.  Taking the Big East Defensive Player of the Year out of the equation is genuinely a frightening thought, but as the experts have said all year, our bench is “deep” and we will fill the gap that the wonky eyed Brazilian has left us with.  Hopefully (Rakeem) Christmas will come early for us Orange-folk, and our team will shine as bright as Rudolphs nose!  I hope the path to the championship game is paved in orange, but no matter what happens in the tournament, I will ALWAYS love March Madness and the Syracuse basketball.  Just remember what Luther sang:

And when it’s done
win or lose
you always did your best
cuz inside you knew…


Paris, Je t’aime

My being belongs to New York.  My soul belongs to London.  But my heart.  My heart belongs to Paris.  And I have been lucky enough to have spent the last 4 days in the city of my heart.  Thanks to my dad AND sister having to do business there, my mom and I packed our bags and tagged along for the ride.  Even though this was my 5th trip to the city of lights, it was no less magical or magnifique than the first time!

People seem to give Parisians (and the French people as a whole) a bad rap.  They think they are rude and snobby.  They dress in all black and aren’t nice to tourists.  But hey…the same could be said about New Yorkers!!  Nothing, in my eyes, could ever make me hate France.  Well, I will admit that I did go into a minor rage attack on the French when my luggage was lost for 20 minutes at Charles de Gaulle Airport.  That’s why I carry on only!  I digress.  How can you not love this city?!?!? Each neighborhood tells a unique story.  Each building is rich with history.  You never know what there is to discover around each corner.  The air is literally thick with love. **My cousin actually proposed to his now wife during a trip to Paris**

I know I am a hopeless romantic and still tending to a bruised heart, but seriously every where I looked in Paris there were people in love.  Couples looking longingly at each other as they ride the metro. Walking with their arms around each other down Boulevard St. Germain.  Men are more than happy to hold the shopping bags of their lady’s as they shop through Bon Marche.  There was even a couple next to us at dinner one night who held hands across the table through their entire  meal! Even though it nauseated my family beyond words, I was incredibly touched.  Ok, yes, maybe when they were actually eating they could have let go, but they seemed to be so enraptured in their love not to care that they couldn’t properly use their utensils with only one hand.

And speaking of dinner, the food in Paris…mon dieu!! The best part about eating in Paris is that you don’t have to go to the fancy shmancy restaurants to have an out of this world meal.  In fact, one of  my favorite meals of the trip was at an itsy bitsy falafel restaurant in the Le  Marais neighborhood.  Food in France isn’t just about eating.  Every chef, from the Michelin starred to the crepe vendor on the street, creates their food to entice all of the senses. At our last dinner (which I voted as my favorite “full meal”.  We like to rank everything we eat in different categories), the chef only offered one menu and the restaurant only had 29 seats.  This allowed the chef the luxury to give a certain attention to detail to each and every dish he sent out that most chef’s don’t.  The flavor combinations were something I had never tasted before and each plate was as if it were a work of art that came straight from the Louvre.  I have to admit, that I may have been drunk with love (and champagne) at this dinner.  The chef, who worked in a kitchen that was open to the restaurant floor, was adorable, from New York, and a college basketball fan.  Seriously, if I had another glass of champagne, I would have proposed to him.

Below are some pictures of my favorite dishes from the trip.  In no particular order:

And even though through the pictures it looks like all we did was eat (which would not have been a bad thing), we did some touring and shopping as well.  Though it may have been my 5th time in Paris, there were so many things I was able to experience for the first time.  No, I didn’t wait in line to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but I did get to see it lit up and sparkling for the first time.  No, I didn’t go to the Louvre and see the Mona Lisa, but I did go to the Musee D’Orsay to see the impressionist paintings of Monet, Degas, and Renoir (my favorite artists).  But the creme de la creme of the “first time Parisian experiences” and the real reason we took this trip, was that we were able to attend the Valentino show for Paris Fashion Week.  This was the “overseas business” that I had mentioned my sister had.  The show was full of energy and the clothes were as breathtaking as the pieces of art that I had seen earlier that day.

At the beginning of my trip I had said that the next time I travel to France, I was not going to come to Paris because there was so much more of the country that I wanted to discover.  Bordeaux, Normandy, Provence, Nice…all places on my travel bucket list.  I had exhausted these cobble stoned streets and it was time to see more.  But, on our last night as our cab drove through the Place de la Concorde, passed the Eiffel Tower, and up the Champs Elysee my heart began to ache.  How could I turn my back on my love? So for now, I’ll  say à bientôt, Paris!  Je t’aime.

On The Verge Of My 30s

We are 12 days into 30 and I know I’ve owed you this blog post for a while.  To be honest, I couldn’t really wrap my head around the concept of actually being 30!! Yes, I know I talked a big game on this blog about how I’d accomplished so much personally in my 20s that I was ready to move onto the next decade, but the tears that were streaming down my face the eve of my birthday told another story.  It was honestly like a scene out of one of the several “single gal” romcom movies that I love so much.  I had just wrapped up my extensive beautification process before meeting my family for my first celebratory birthday meal, I  looked in the mirror, and said aloud (to myself as I live alone) “Ok, so this is what 30 looks like”.  Now insert waterworks here…and then continually on and off for the next 48 hours.

Do not let the tears fool you though, I had the most AMAZING 30th birthday I could ask for.  Seriously, 30 welcomed me with a very big hug “hello”.  I woke up to a bevy of texts, emails, and Facebook messages that continued through the day.  I had an amazing spa treatment followed by a lunch consisting of fried chicken (because calories don’t count on your birthday).  That night my friends came over and we celebrated our 10th friendiversary with serious amounts prosecco induced reminiscing and laughing tears, greasy chinese food, and the most AMAZATORY homemade birthday cake.  Remember…NO CALORIES ON MY BIRTHDAY!  

Cake by Amy and Casey *thank you thank you thank you*

And it didn’t stop there.  I spent the day on Saturday with my sister. We just did the usual Saturday routine of brunch, window shopping, and getting matching tatto0s.  Then Saturday night, after another vigorous beautification process with the help of my friend Amy (yes -she bakes and she does hair! What else can you ask for in a friend?!), we went out to really celebrate.  The aforementioned sister threw one hell of a party that included champagne, cupcakes, and pigs in a blanket (she’s obviously reading my blog!).  I know it sounds lame, but I love having birthday parties.  All the people I love in one room at the same time, ugh–nothing better!!  The celebration came to an end the next morning with one last birthday breakfast with a friend. Birthday = Zero Calories

Once the celebrations wound down and the calories started to sink, so did the fact that I was actually 30! And the once sporadic tears turned into a full day of melancholy.  I’m talking lights off, shades drawn, candles lit, bathrobe on, laying on the couch under a blanket, down in the dumpsters kinda day.  It all just hit me like a mack truck.  The thing is, there were no actual thoughts running through my mind.  No massive anxiety attack.  No generalization of my feelings.  No time was spent trying to rationalize this “new decade” I was embarking on.  I really thought I was going to come up with some genius Rebecca-ism about karma from my 20s rolling over to my 30s, but all I came away with were pillow marks on my face and quite the stomach ache.  I was just kinda blank.

And after 12 days I have realized that blank was good. Blank is like a new beginning, right?! Clean slate, fresh start, square one.  And that’s exactly how I am going to embrace this new stage of mine.  I have some exciting new things ahead of me as I enter my 30s.  I’m embarking on a new career (I don’t want to put the “juju” on it, but I promise I will divulge soon), I’m  back in the dating scene, and I have some pretty great travels ahead of me.  Really, the possibilities that are ahead of me are endless.  Even though I’m not on the verge of 30 anymore, a wise blog commenter told me that we are always on the verge of something! Now that I have fully indulged on everything that my 20s had to offer, I can’t wait to see what happens in my 30s…

Rebel With A Cause

I am a scaredy cat.  I don’t like to do anything that that makes my anxiety exceed it’s already sky-high level.  I really strive to keep my life at a very even keel. I am a planner because I like to know what is ahead of me. I like to prepare and brace myself.  I don’t like the unknown.  I don’t like to rock the boat.  Yet, Saturday afternoon, the day AFTER I turned 30, I got a tattoo!!!  Yes, you read that correctly.  I, Rebecca E Robin got herself tatted up.  Not only did I rock the boat, I freakin’ capsized it!!

I have always wanted a tattoo.  I think I have been talking about getting one for at LEAST 8 years.  I don’t know why I wanted one so badly, but I always did.  And let’s be clear-I didn’t want some tramp stamp.  I wanted something small, chic, and meaningful.  I toyed with a few ideas-and for a while my heart was set on a small lower case “r” in Times New Roman font on the outside of my right wrist.  See, I wasn’t lying about being a planner-and a meticulous one at that.  I thought it was perfect.  Small, chic, and my name would ALWAYS be Rebecca, so I didn’t have to worry about it becoming irrelevant.  But for some reason, I could never pull the trigger.  That is…until my sister bbm’ed me one night in December.  She had also decided to get one and we were going to do it together!

I know I don’t talk about my sister much, but for those of you who don’t know her, she is LEGIT! Once mortal enemies, Katie has turned out to be one of my best friends and one of my most favorite people of all time! We are different beyond words, yet when you put us in a room together we basically morph into the same person.  We call ourselves “The Sisters Robin” as if we were some club act-which with our rhyming poems and matching harlequin jumpsuits, we totally could be. After much deliberation and scheduling conflicts, we finally decided that Saturday, February 11th was going to be the day!!

scene of the crime

Along with my friend Sara, who came for my moral support, we headed to Adorned NY to seal our fate…literally.  Usually one who suffers from severe symptoms from her anxiety, I was actually feeling pretty good that day.  I had done some massive Googling that morning of “most painful tattoos” and “tattoo care”, so I had all of my bases covered.  We walked into the parlor and it was THE cleanest space I have ever been in.  I felt very good.  Katie and I filled out some forms, handed in the sketch that we had finally agreed on, and after less than 20 minutes in the waiting area we were taken back by our “artist” Damian.

We headed back to an open room with partitions separating the tattoo-ers from each other.  I had opted to go first because I KNOW I would have chickened out if I watched Katie do it before me.  I rested my arm on a padded stool as Damian sterilized the spot and even before he started with the inking I made my sister hold my hand.  Hey, we all need a little support every now and again.  He got right to work-and it took less than 10 minutes!  I didn’t cry, but according to my sister, the tears I would have shed had manifested into gigantic beads of sweat upon my upper lip.  I got bandaged up and then sent out of the room so they could prep for Robin sister #2.  We went back in for Katie’s tat and it was as if nothing was happening to her.  While during my turn I almost broke her fingers from squeezing so tightly, she was Blackberrying the entire time she got hers.  We had to wait at least 3 hours to take off the bandage and I couldn’t wait for it to be revealed to the world!!  Luckily, we had the perfect venue to debut our new ink…my 30th birthday party!  And to be honest, I was more excited to celebrate the new body art than I was to celebrate my new decade.

See! No tears!!

I didn’t end up getting the lower case “r” that I had once dreamed about.  We got something more special, more meaningful, and something that defines exactly who we are…a Robin. Katie and I are the last of the Robin clan-and after us, the last name is going to be extinct.  I’m sure this is NOT what my Dad or Grandma had in mind when thinking about ways to honor our family, but Katie and I thought it was perfect.  No matter where our lives take us and what our last names change to in the future-we will always be The Sisters Robin.

sisters that ink together... *photo by SPG*

End of an Era…

Okay bloggies.  It’s here.  The sand in the hourglass is dwindling.  The ticks of the countdown clock are speeding up.  There are no more fingers or toes to count on.  30 is merely hours away!  Holy moly!!! (A number of other, more vulgar, expletives came to my mind as I’m thinking about this fact, but I resolved on New Years Eve to try to clean up my language.)

A friend of mine I met freshman year taught me about “birthday reflections”.  On the eve of your birthday you think back about the previous year, what you’ve done, and what you want for the next year.  It may sound super cheesy but honestly, it is pretty awesome…not to mention super cathartic.  But let’s be honest here, on the eve of my 30th birthday, I don’t think that reflecting upon the year that has past will suffice.  Besides the fact that through writing this blog, I’ve already done a pretty bang-up job of reflecting on the last year; I am not only saying goodbye to a year, I am saying goodbye to an entire DECADE!!

And as I think about it SO MUCH has happened in those 10 years.  I studied abroad in London and watched the Syracuse Orange win the NCAA tournament.  I graduated from college and the same summer ended my 13 year run at sleep-away camp.  I’ve had 3 jobs and 2 apartments.  I’ve had friends pass away and I’ve had friends move out of town.  I’ve partied like a rock-star and I’ve hibernated like a bear in winter.  I’ve seen friends get married and have babies.  I’ve had 2 serious relationships and have been on countless “story worthy” dates.  I’ve lost over 90lbs and have gained a little bit of it back (getting old = slower metabolism.  Sad).  I’ve been to the Super Bowl, Sundance, The Kentucky Derby, French Open, and saw The Who twice (they are my fave!!!!).  I’ve traveled to Europe, Asia, the Caribbean, and Central America. I’ve seen the entire West Wing series 4 times and watched It’s Complicated enough to figure out how to uncomplicate it. I’ve shed countless tears and had millions of belly laughs.  WOWZA. That’s a lot!!

A lot has happened on the inside as well.  10 years ago, I would have never written this blog.  Did the word “blog” even exist in 2002??  I would have been so consumed with the fear that no one would read it.  Or if they did, they would hate it or worse…not think it was FUNNY!!  10 years ago, I was a doormat.  I had no voice.  I never put what I wanted to do above everyone else.  What I thought was being “breezey” was really me being walked over.  10 years ago, I was consumed with being “enough”.  Was I nice enough? Friendly enough? Caring enough? Funny enough? Smart enough? Love-able enough?  Well…ENOUGH of enough!  It has taken me 9 out of the 10 years of this decade to figure it out, but thankfully I have. I have come to find that I am pretty much the JAM!  I have embraced what makes me me.  I have come to realize that it is more than okay to speak-up for myself.  I have found my voice and clearly have not stopped using it.  I am NOT perfect and there are people in this world that do not and will not like me.  But why waste my time worrying about that? Why spend my time trying to MAKE them like me when I already have people that do!

I know I know, on the brink of turning 30 I’ve become pretty wise!  Well, there are some things that will never change even though, as of tomorrow, I will be an “adult” .  I will always sleep with my stuffed animal, Piggy.  I will still order chocolate milk and shirley temples.  I will always make a wish on 11:11 and hold my breath when I drive by a cemetery.  I will still NOT know how to do my own laundry (I know, it’s TERRIBLE).  I will still call my parents when I am sick.  I will still rather watch cartoons on Sunday morning rather than Meet The Press.  I will still have solo dance parties in my apartment.  I will always think that a cardi with a random t-shirt is the perfect outfit.  I’ll still believe that Prince William and I are destined to be together.  I will always take naps!!

This “birthday reflection” has actually really helped!! I know that when I wake up tomorrow morning, I’m going to pretty much feel exactly how I did today.  For 30 is only a number and age is just a state of mind. No, I’m not where I thought I would be when I turned 30 (married with kids in the ‘burbs) but I think I am exactly where I should be.  I am sad to see my 20s go-but what I’m on the verge of has the potential to be something extraordinary!!

**BTW-Happy last day of your 20s to my friend and birthday twin P-ster!**

Happy Friendiversary!

Though February 10th will be a GLORIOUS day of celebrating the birth of yours truly, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the other extremely important holiday that lands on the same date.  It is my 10th Friendiversary!! What is a Friendiversary, you ask? Well, it is just what it sounds like.  The anniversary of the date where I met my friends–and another excuse for us to make up a fabulously nonsensical word!  Now, I don’t celebrate the anniversary of all of my friendships-but this is something that is beyond friendship.  To be a complete cheeseball…they are like my family.  Which, actually if you think about it, we are…seeing as though it was our sorority’s bid day that brought us together.

I won’t go into the details about how each of us became friends because honestly, I don’t remember.  Mostly because it just, like, happened. It was as if the fates (with the help of the Panhellenic Board of Syracuse University) brought us together.  Oh, let me mention that I am a year older than the other 4 in our group.  It is neither here nor there at this point in our lives, but in college/sorority life that meant a big deal.  As they were pledging, I was partying.  As they were partying, I was abroad.  As they were abroad, I was graduating.  As they were graduating, I was a freshman at life.  So really, we only had 3 total semesters in college together. Yet, most of my favorite memories I have of school involve them.

We did NOT have Facebook in college, therefore no pictures of us from that time period should grace the internet!! You are welcome, ladies.

Once we were all in NYC though, it was a different story.  We lived within 5 blocks of each other, and while the other 4 lived in 2 different apartments in the same building, my apartment became our home base.  We basically LIVED in my one bedroom apartment on East 44th Street.  We would hang out there most nights after work and order cheap take out.  We would pre-drink there on weekends but ALWAYS ended up staying there instead of going to the bar.  Just the 5 of us.  Because honestly, no one is more entertaining to us than us!!  They even spent the last night with me in that apartment and initialed the inside of my fireplace before leaving.  We weren’t saying goodbye to my old apartment.  We were leaving our mark on OUR first NYC home.

The beauty of our friendship is that we are all so different yet SO the same.  We all appreciate a good 90’s teen movie.  We are pesto intolerant.  We can never say no to karaoke.  We speak in abbreviations and nonsensical words and know exactly what we mean.  We know that prosecco and brie make a bad day better.  We firmly do NOT believe in group dinners-but firmly believe in “family” pot lucks.  Brunch at a diner and an afternoon movie make for our perfect Sunday.  And we all share the same “Dad”.  Not REALLY, but we all laugh at the fact that our dad’s are basically the same.  Actually, we adopted our tour guide on our Israel trip as our “Israel Dad”.  I mean, we all had our assigned seats in his Chevy Tahoe and napped as he played Billy Joel or Crosby, Stills, and Nash on the radio.  He got pissed when we didn’t listen to his trivial facts and knew a meal of falafel and schnitzel was going to stop our impending meltdowns. So Dad.

On our Israel trip. Picture taken by "Dad", obviously

As much as we are the same, we are different.  And that is what makes our friendship what it is.  Everyone comes with their own nuances.  I am the “sensitive” one.  I’m overly emotional and slightly neurotic.  I’m sentimental and sometimes a little cheesy but it all comes from a place of love.  I am a planner and everyone’s personal calendar reminder.  I’m a nurturer, and even though this isn’t a touchy feely kinda group, I have FINALLY broken through the barrier and we are now hugging a lot more!!!(small victory) And being different means that there are times that we disagree.  We butt heads-but isn’t that how every family works?!?!

And a family is exactly what we are.  We walk into each others apartment’s as if they were our own.  We know exactly where the good snacks are and which closet the guest sweats are in.  We can communicate from across a crowded party only using extra wide-eyed stares, sidewards glances, and flared nostrils.  We are there for it all.  When things are too scary to say out loud or too amazing not to shout from the roof tops, these are the people that I know will get it.  And they get me.

I can not write this blog entry without thanking the other sororities that participated in the 2002 winter rush process.  Without you overlooking the AMAZINGNESS of my friends, I would not have received the best birthday present anyone could ever ask for.  I still can’t comprehend that 10 years (and the entirety of my 20s) have gone by so quickly!!  Without them, I would not be who or where I am today.  Happy Friendiversary, Friendies!! Cheers to 10 years and many many more!! xoxo

*See, I told you I was the sappy one!!**

Ode to the Birthday Cake

If there is something that I cannot fake

It is my love for birthday cake!

Vanilla frosting & yellow cake is what I’m talkin’ about

“YOU ARE DELICIOUS” from the rooftops I do shout

You won’t get a piece if you arrive tardy

Here I am chowin’ down at my 4th birthday party

The homemade version is good, but I prefer from a bakery

If it doesn’t come in a white cardboard box, I call it fakery!

An inch of frosting in between each layer

I sink my teeth in like a birthday cake slayer

And don’t forget the flowers, those are a must

Without the decor, the dessert is a bust!

364 days for this treat I wait

It really is the ideal way to celebrate!

Pour some skim milk or a glass of champagne

As long as I have cake, I cannot complain

Bakers start baking, we’re only 2 weeks away

From February 10th-my 30th birthday!!!