(Okay, so Mr. T was hardly the kind of role model any of us, white, black, turquoise, or fuschia-striped, might want for our kids. Still.)

When you think of The T, you think of someone you don't want to mess with, which has nothing to do with me, being short and surprisingly afraid to open my mouth when I'm face-to-face with criminals. Not that I ever have been. Knowingly, I mean.

Well, maybe a drug dealer or two. There was a lot of that going around in the 70s, after all. You could hardly vet everyone you found standing next to you in the grocery store, you know. I didn't inhale or anything.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.

Good news, bad news!

The Chipmunk has been dissed by a client. To the point where, being tired of beating around the bush diplomatically, the client came right out and said if we want our program to be utilized in their offices, we'd better send a different face to represent our company. It's good to know that I'm not the only human being on the face of the planet that finds him a touch arrogant.

Poor Alvin. He was already having a rough day when I informed him that the client had countermanded our decision to send the Chipmunk on over to chat up the locals.

The bad news? Under the heading of, "let's shoot the messenger!", they're sending me instead. Grrr. No, I've never been to New Orleans and yes, I've wanted to go. But not alone and on my birthday!

What if there are presents for me at my house? If I'm not there to open them On The Day, do I forfeit my right to them?

If I'm out of town, is my mother off the hook for remembering the actual day and calling me?

Will there be cake?

Who makes these decisions? I demand a recount. There were hanging chads!

What am I going to do with myself, all alone in New Orleans? I have one fifteen-minute meeting scheduled and for that I have to fly in the day before, and can't leave until the day after!

It's very sad to be me.

Also, it's snowing.