So I woke up today a whole year older and I feel…exactly the same. When I was a kid, I always thought that I should feel somehow different, older and wiser, or at least, have my boobs grow a size or something to ring in the New Year. Sadly–or is it thankfully, since I’ve already surpassed the Maximum Boob Size I’d Wanted years ago–I’ve never noticed an appreciable change in me.
However, in response to my pathetic pity party post (alliteration much?) I did manage to procure myself my very own Blog Troll, something I’d wanted very, very much and am counting as my Own Personal Birthday Present. Thank you, o Blog Troll, for coming by to reflect upon my general state of self-pity and inability to be pleased by what I have.
But despite being openly berated by someone with bad grammar, the rest of The Internet deserves a massive Thank You from my heart to yours. I’d send you a present if I could, sweet Internet, whom I love so very much that it hurts.Seriously, you made me blush a little bit and maybe my nipples got a little hard when I saw that everyone else refrained from telling me how obnoxious I was being (oh, don’t get me wrong, the Blog Troll was RIGHT. I was whining.) and some of you even understood what the hell I was blabbering about.
Will you marry me, Internet?
So today, I ask you, my sweet Internet, something I’ve always wondered and never thought to ask (primarily because I am dumb). Zodiac signs, hoax or dogma? I’m a Cancer, born a couple weeks early–supposed to be a Leo–and although I suppose some of the traits fit (like throwing shit onto a wall?) I don’t really see it. What do you think?
Have you ever had one of those conversations where both parties walk away thinking that they’ve established something completely different? Apparently, I had one of those a couple of weeks ago. Cue Wayne’s World like hand motions and wavy camera work as I take you back.
Today is Bastille Day, which means that tomorrow SHOULD be a national holiday–it’s my birthday–but the government has, so far, ignored it. After last year’s decidedly terrible birthday (of which in this post there is no mention of several other key factors against it. Like the fact that I hadn’t slept more than an hour in months and that Dave spent most of my waking hours hiding from the kids and I in the basement) and once I’d reached the conclusion that since NOT celebrating it wasn’t an option (Internet, meet my son Ben, who loves a party more than a drunken co-ed) I decided that I wanted to do something low-key.
I blithely asked The Daver to take *gasp* a day *gasp* off work *o the humanity!* so that I wouldn’t be stuck doing what I deemed to be “depressing” and “sad.” Basically, much as I love my children, I didn’t want to spend my day alone with them wiping poo-covered butts just like every other day on the planet.
The Daver, who would be a work-a-holic in any job, works the type of job that I can compare only to resident doctors (he is not a doctor) in that his hours are ridiculous and frustrating. For instance, most weeks he works 80+ hour weeks and is seldom home to see the kids when they wake up OR before they go to bed at night. I had to threaten him not to bring his Blackberry into the delivery room when Alex was born.
While it’s not a job I’m always peeing sunshine and roses over him having–I’m downright tired of being having a silent partner–it allows me to stay home with the kids, which beats the shit out of any nursing job I could score. Plus, he really does like what he does, which even I know is a rarity for most people.
I often compare his job to another, more neurotic (shut up) wife.
So for me to ask him to take the day off for my birthday is much more of a big deal than it sounds. For both of us. He might have to spend some time NOT WORKING and I might spend some time with another pair of hands around the house.
Well, in typical fashion for his job, we’d agreed that he’d take a couple of days around my hallowed day of birth off so that he could squeeze a mini-vacation into that time as well, but I found out last week that this wasn’t going to happen. But, I thought we’d discussed, he’d take my birthday proper off, save for a couple of hours in the mid-morning.
And you can guess what happened yesterday: he informed me that no, in fact, he wouldn’t be able to take my birthday off at all. But he might leave early. Maybe. (can I just say, yeah RIGHT?)
So I’m back to spending my birthday at home, alone with the kids, just like today and just like the day after today.
He doesn’t understand why I’m upset with him over this. In his mind, he’s absolved since he promised to either take another day off this week (yeah.right) and even take a week off at the end of the month (yeah.fucking.right), and while I am positive that neither of those would actually happen, it’s not the same. Tuesday, July 15 is my birthday, it is my only birthday and I will be 28 this year ON Tuesday.
It’s stooped so low for me that I had to beg my parents–whom I see every day anyway–to hang out with me on my birthday so that I don’t have to be alone. If that’s not the dorkiest, most pathetic thing I’ve ever had to do, I’m not sure what is. Maybe we can play Yahtzee or Monopoly while drinking some sparkling water! It’s going to be a fucking blast! I’ll be 28 going on 6! Hooray for hanging with my parents!
People always assume that I hate my birthday because I hate getting older, and that’s simply not true. I hate my birthday because no matter how much I beg, it’s just like every other day on the planet for me.
Even I realize that my blog has gotten somewhat Gloom and Doom in the past couple of months, and that’s something that bothers me quite a bit. Although I may appear to wear thick liquid eyeliner and listen to The Cure while weeping about my past loves (or something), it’s really not who I am. Shock to the ole system, I know, I know.
But I was thinking that if Oprah can have a “Favorites” show, I can occasionally showcase my own favorite things. Because my blog isn’t self-indulgent enough, right?
1) Burberry. Now, I love the Burberry plaid so much that I might want to wrap myself in it and get married to the pattern. I was fortunate enough to have this Christmas be the Christmas of Plaid, so I’m frequently able to display JUST how I feel about Burberry. In the wintertime. In the summer? Probably not so much.
2) Vinegar. So, I don’t JUST drive The Daver insane while I’m incubating baby sausages, I tend to spread out the love over the course of, well, our lifetime, and as such, I frequently have cravings. Often they involve copious amounts of plain, cheap-ass, vinegar (did you know that they make DESIGNER vinegar? I HAD NO IDEA), which I sometimes maybe a little I’m not saying for sure…Okay, I drink it plain sometimes. There. HAPPY NOW?
3) Pedicures. I’m not much of a fan of such things as going to the spa or even getting my hairs did, but I do enjoy a good old fashioned pedicure given to me by someone who is simultaneously rude without speaking a lick of English. Did I say I loved that part? Because that’s a lie.
But I *do* like paying someone else to take care of the monstrosity that is my feet in the summertime. I’ve been trying to make it a monthly habit to go and get one, just me and my trash-tastic magazines, but I’ve been somewhat lax since my foot was hurt. It’s my birthday weekend–why yes, I spread my birthday into weeks ahead of time. Dave adores it–and maybe that’s what I’ll do.
Anyone wanna come with?
4) Purified Water. St. Charles water is notoriously disgusting, but I’ve put up with it and made do for years, adding lemon juice or lots of ice to make it more palatable, but these days, I cannot stomach the flavor. Yeah, go ahead, laugh at me: I don’t like the flavor of my tap water.
(assholes)
So I found a great alternative: Jugs ‘o’ Water! Who knew it could be so tasty and delicious?
5) My Birthday Weekend. I was so worried that I’d spend my birthday weekend sitting around and feeling sorry for myself (okay, okay, attached to the cross) because no one remembered it. And by “no one” I mean “The Daver” who is terrible, TERRIBLE about these sorts of things.
But with the help of my enterprising sister-in-law, a pilgrimage has been planned. A pilgrimage that involves both “tapas” and “omlettes.” As you might imagine, this makes me very, very pleased.
Now if only I could have birthday creme bruilee rather than birthday cake, I’d be one happy fat bitch.
6. Hilarious Television Reenactments. Especially those on Crime Shows or Ghost shows. Because they often put “reenactment” on the bottom, JUST IN CASE YOU WEREN’T AWARE THAT THERE WAS NOT A CAMERA CREW THERE WHILE SOMEONE WAS MURDERED.
All right, my party people, tell your Aunt Becky what some of your favorite things are.
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