Happy Birthday Month to me! And to several other of my dear hearts.

One word for y'all: Vegas.

I have my tickets, I've booked the rooms. Now, we've just gotta get there.

When I flew out to L.A. in April, the first leg of my flight (Columbus to Cleveland) was overbooked, so I volunteered my seat. People - do this all the time. Not only did I get rerouted through Houston (just being in the airport takes a little edge off the homesickness), I got bumped to first, and I got a voucher. Not to mention the extra miles.

So, not only am I flying to Vegas for my birthday, I'm flying for free.

I know. You hate me.

This will be my third time in Vegas in six months, and I'd never been there before January. I'm a little freaky with the Vegas love. The Bright Light City suckered me in.

But where else can you act like a bored, rich housewife? The girls, and a few girly boyfriends, are going to have a Spa Day on Friday. Salt scrubs, massages, pedicures. Chillin' in the sauna. (Get it? Chilling in a sauna? I kill.) Then Saturday is Lay by the Pool Day; we'll only move when we have to swim up for another daiquiri.

And even though it's perpetually dusk in Vegas, when the sun goes down, I'm sure we'll turn it up. I like to pretend someone will rent us a limo. It could happen.

Plus, Chubby Checker is performing in the hotel we're staying in.

I guess dreams really can come true.

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Go buy Ryan Adams' Heartbreaker. No, no, not Bryan Adams. Ryan Adams. The former Whiskeytown front man put out a solo disc. It's amazing. Amazing. I know I'm all obsessed with the strummy strum, what with the Lucinda and Ani and all, but really. He'll make your heart sing. And who wouldn't want that?

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Come on, join the notify list. There's some secret schtuff going down in there. Would I lie to you? No. Why? Because you're pretty.