Sigh… I turn 41 today. Um… yeah. So that’s all I have to say ’bout that.

The staff I’ve been working with here in Fresno gave me a card and each of them signed it with a personal comment. Given their speed, I figure they started on it sometime over the weekend.

I’ve been notifying anyone and everyone who’ll listen that the only proper gift for me this year is a black 2002 Harley Davidson Road King Classic, so my co-worker on site with me this trip gave me a Harley desk calendar. So a few times a year I can look at a picture of the Road King and dream.

Said co-worker also took me out to lunch just now. We went to a greasy spoon called Waffle Shop, apparently Fresno’s version of Waffle House. I ordered a McGriddles inspired meal: the Pecan Bacon Waffle. It was … well … wrong. It tasted like bacon — in a bad way. Lesson learned: Bacon does not belong inside a waffle, no matter how good an idea it may seem.

Possible game plan for tonight: hit one of the local casinos. Except my co-worker thinks she’s coming with me. And I hate everyone right now and just want to be alone. So the casino might have to survive a little longer without my money … so she can survive a little longer.

At this point I only have 46 hours and 23 minutes to go until I leave Fresno — but it feels like dog years. I was on the road for my birthday last year, too, but at least then I was in Memphis and could go to Graceland. Here in Fresno there’s just … Fresnonians. 46 hours and 21 minutes to go now.

Bleh.