Me with Dessert
Well, have gotten over 100 “Happy Birthday” wishes from folks on Facebook, regular e-mail (does that exist anymore?) and via phone calls. As of 11 a.m. And my birthday doesn’t officially kick in until 6:46 tonight. Even “Happy Birthday” was crooned to me, live, by the Ray family, over the phone. Shawn, natch, was way off key. By the way, give my birthday wishes to your mother, Yvonne Stribling, Sugar Shawn. The onslaught has turned what I thought would be a depressing day into a joyous one. I mean, hitting 39 is scary. Or is it 49? Can it be 59? See, there is some good in becoming ancient; you can legitimally swear you just don’t remember. No truth to the rumors, however, that I was a waiter at The Last Supper.
The festivities started Saturday, with an early dinner—and forced chocolate cake—at my Aunt Dorothy’s house. Aunt Dotty is the last remaining sibling on my mother’s side of the family. Monday night I went to Houston’s in Pasadena for a Hawaiian Rib Eye steak. Courtesy of Amy (Tiny) Han, the wife of Tom (I used to be a contender) Han, who talked his better half into picking up the tab after I commented I thought he was shrinking at only 43 years of age. Again, dessert was forced on me. This morning I ventured to my main eatery, Twohey’s, in Alhambra, and the waitresses surprised me with yet another sugary delight—an ice cream sundae—at the end of my meal. You KNOW you can’t turn down this stuff because of hurt feelings. A great excuse, eh?
Elsa and Oliver
Tonight, I’m heading for Damon’s in Glendale, where my gal of 25 years (yes, you read this right—can you say commitaphobics?), Elsa (Sopa) Escobar, is popping for the meal. And a pina colada. And more dessert, I assume. My son, Oliver Timmy Teper, who is really a 10-year-old, 5-pound Maltese, will be expecting me to bring back half the grub so he can pig out as well. And, what Ollie wants, Ollie gets.
The real question: will I be able to fit into the tux I normally wear when emceeing the Arnold Classic? Hey, I leave in only two weeks. Treadmill, here I come, in an hour or so. And, don’t want any more sweets, ya hear, Gold’s Gym members? Well, haven’t had tapioca pudding in a long time.
I’m out. Literally and figuratively.