DUMPS OF DUMPS or: How I Turned 32 and Learned to Love the Dumpling

In a year full of dumplings, vivren and I decided this was the year of the dumpling literally days before any of that other stuff went public. It's called having your finger to the throbbing pulse of the world. The pre-game was the 32 Working Day Challenge, in which the Finance Department successfully ate a different dumpling every working day on each of the 32 working days leading up to my 32nd birthday. That's 6+ weeks of dumplings, in case you weren't counting. It was daunting at times but ultimately delicious—plus it survived non-consecutive trips to China & Poland. Now that's what I call dumps! Of course it was documented and color-coded by dumpling origin:

The 32 Dumplings That Were

Dumpling Finale: Polish Bison Vodka!

With all that out of the way, it was time for the actual 32nd Birthday. Crowds starting assembling Friday night at which point we drank wine out of measuring cups and everybody had their picture taken. The later was mainly a safety precaution, since we did have to walk down my tiny little deserted street to get home. Then we did that thing where you stay up until 5:00 AM drinking with friends listening to music really loud. 

Germany - c. 1945

The Morning I Turned 32

Thirty-two started just how I'd always pictured it, a little hung over and very brunchy. And despite claims to the contrary, the DumpFest really came together. There were birthday necklaces, dumps out the wazoo, cowls for miles, and an impromptu scavenger hunt. In what apparently is a hexadecennial tradition, The Trudeaus showed up with manhattans, the hunt, and requisite prizes. Anyone who plans to attend my 48th birthday should be forewarned.

Team Taylors, with prize.

With the night ending in boots of Miller High Life and Maker's Mark in retrograde, the 6:00 AM wake up call was surprising. Actually, that's not true. I hid my phone under and extra layer of pillow so I wouldn't hear it. Katie proved her early morning mettle though and got us all out the door in time to load up the scooter cooler for the double tailgate, in a 1976 Winnebago. First up: The Philadelphia Marathon. 

Ms. Barnebey supports sports/husband.

Go Runners.

Fun fact: this guy did not blow anything up.

Between 'gates we stopped for coffee, and bathrooms, and Cheetos. While I manned the cab, Jay Carrol parking in front of me and we talked high school marching band for a few minutes. I was wearing this little getup. So there's that.

Second up: the Eagles' game tailgate.

There aren't a lot of things in this world more fun that double-scooting around a Eagle's tailgate on top of your beer supply.

Post-tailgate Cheesesteak Success!

Taytay in Philalphia