Today I embark upon my thirties. I do this with requisite ambivalence.

I had a marvelous weekend due to Mr. Pencil’s scheming. On Saturday, Dad visited and we all went and had a memorable lunchtime meal at Fenouil, which is a story for another time or post. In the evening, David told me to dress up and then took me to Genoa, where we commenced a many-course meal with great relish. It’s funny, Genoa: A restaurant that is actually older than I am (36 years; we asked) and, though it gets consistently overlooked in favor of lustier, sexier restaurants that are young and without crows-feet of experience, it’s still an amazing place. Also: only eight blocks from our house. Also: the second good-service experience we’d had of the day (Fenouil being the first).

When we came home after dinner, lo, a surprise! A dozen or so of my friends had gathered for a wine and munchie party (with lots of decorations). For this birthday I opted (instead of our typical giant 80- to 100-person keggers) for a smaller group and I am really happy for this decision. I actually got to have conversations instead of flitting around.

Sunday. Hungover but happy. Good friend Autumn and I head to the Aveda (Dosha) spa on Hawthorne for several hours of rubbing, soaking and steaming. Mr. Pencil keeps me liberally showered with gifts.

Thanks for your birthday wishes, also, readers. I’ve received communications from as far as France, Ireland and Atlanta.