A Pictoral History

I promise, I won't do this when I'm 30. When I turn 30, hopefully I'll be in Key West with Brooke, sipping rum punch and enjoying the fact that we still get carded.

My dad and I used to have a running joke that would start about 6 months before each birthday.

I'd call Dad up and this is what would transpire:

"Hey, Daddy. Guess what?"

"What?"

"My birthday is in __ months/days!"

"Bah humbug! That's only if you live that long!"

Obviously, I don't get to have that conversation with him now, but I still play it back in my head as a reminder of why I used to like my birthday. Thanks to Dad and Mom, I'm healthy, intact and another year older and wiser.

(Or so I'd have you believe...)

If you've ever wondered how a military brat from Colorado ends up in New Orleans with a southern accent, well, here you are:







We're bypassing my middle-school years. They were unpleasant and puberty was terribly unkind to me. ;)






And there you have it. :)