I couldn't decide on the right punctuation for the title of this post. "It's My Birthday!" doesn't suit my mood, but "It's My Birthday." looks too downtrodden. And while I'm a little blue about turning 31, I'm certainly not feeling downtrodden. So, "It's My Birthday", the end.
The thing is, I do feel like throwing the tiniest of tantrums because everyone's too busy for a birthday party, including my husband. And one can't plan their own birthday party, can one?
Well, I did. I sent out an email asking friends to join me at a bar for drinks after tonight's final Prime Time session, and all I've gotten are regrets. (I didn't send the message until yesterday--my dumb fault for not knowing what I wanted to do.) I don't really want drinks at a bar, though. I want a kiddie birthday party. I want to feel that excited feeling I did way back when (and even up until my 25th). Here's what I wanted: my friends Anthony and Claire to swoop in and throw me a birthday party!!! Claire? Anfernee? I miss you!) Instead, I am just a plain ol' year older.
I'm also a year married. Simon and I celebrated our first anniversary this weekend with dinner at Bacchanal and a stay at the Lookout Inn--a B&B that I highly, highly recommend, if you can wrangle a local's discount (the place is pricey). I don't think I've been a very good wife this year. I think I need to do more of that "Do unto others" whatnot. Sometimes I can be quite a mean ol' nag.
So I'm writing now to declare that birthday party or no, I want this year to be happier, lighter, and less difficult, and I want to feel like I have the power to control that. I wonder if it's possible, in our city.
My cat is sunning on the TV tray in front of me. The ladies are fighting about Bush on "The View." I am going to finish my coffee and get ready for some errand running--cell phone buying, post-office going, whatever-else-ing. Maybe I'll bake some cupcakes for my damn self.
Happy birthday to me! . ? !%@!^(&#@(*#!@!