It's my birthday. Technically, anyway, it's August 27, so that means I was born this day 35 years ago. Sheesh. But in my opinion, it's not "tomorrow" yet until I've slept, and I'm (obviously) still up from Friday, so it's really not my birthday.
Work was more weird than usual today. Coworker T and D (also a coworker, but she's 'just' D) brought a little surprise for me: a crystal & pearl (fake!) tiara. I had to wear the thing all day so that people would realize that I was "The Birthday Princess." Ahem. The total number of people working today: 10, including me. It didn't take long for them all to see the thing on my head, so I think I could've taken it off around 11 and satisfied everyone's whim. However, I had to keep it on for the whole day. The UPS guy saw it and looked at me like I'm more nuts than usual. The people that frequent my place of work saw it and seemed to think I had delusions of grandeur. Considering that I was wearing it with a black blouse, Levis and sandals, that seems both odd and fitting. At least it's comfortable.
I baked cakes last night after returning from my night in Geneva with Robert. Milk chocolate cakes, 8-inch round. I frosted them this morning before work--caramel butter frosting. I took one to SWC with my rent check before leaving for work. They don't seem to know quite how to respond to cake (or brownies, scones, muffins, cookies, etc.) when I bring it to them. But hey, I can't eat the whole thing, so they might as well!
Off to work, then (after a breakfast of Frosted Mini Wheats). I cut the cake into 12ths (at D's request. Don't ask me why.) and ate 2 of them, but at least they were spaced out by several hours. I also had pretzels and 2 travel mugs of tea. For lunch, my leftover Claddagh food. The potato things don't reheat well in the microwave (soggy!) but they still tasted fantastic. I think I had a glass of milk with that.
When I came home from lunch, I retrieved the mail. Two birthday cards, and from a more ironic duo I cannot imagine: my ex-husband, and my former best friend. Please don't take that the wrong way--I was very happy to get the cards, and they were both really nice--but the cumulative effect was, er, striking, I suppose. I also received cards from 2 coworkers (actually, coworker T and the honcho) and from a friend in the System. ("You ain't nothin' but a groundhog....")
The work day wasn't bad. I didn't exceed all productivity records, but I got some things accomplished. Read about the new Seattle Public Lib. central lib. in L J. Holy fucking crap, I would die to work there. The automated check-in sorting system alone had me dancing in my chair. To select fiction for them...I could die happy.
I also pondered writing the grant report, but did not do so. I think I'll be working on that tomorrow, godddamnit.
After work I came home, stripped down to nothin', and slid into bed. My head was pounding and I thought I'd expire if I didn't have a nap. 2.5 hours later, I woke up when The Cat called. (I must've sounded awake, but I was totally confused for the first 10 minutes of the conversation.) We talked for quite a while, until my phone started vomiting in my hand. Either Nextel/Sprint (fuckers) were having 'issues,' or my phone was specifically unhappy about draining the battery down to almost E and then being plugged in for the whole time we talked. Regardless, it hung up on her 3 times, I think. We finally called it a conversation and I tottered off toward the kitchen. Did I eat dinner? No. I washed the baking dishes from last night. And cleared some clutter off of the dining room table. And changed into flannel boxers, a schluppy pink t-shirt, and one of the new skanky items that I got from VS last weekend. It's better to look good than to feel good, and all that happy crap.
"Dean" came over a little bit after 10. He probably shouldn't have come at all, 'cause it was a terrifically busy day for him and the next couple will be even more intense, but he knew that I wanted to see him. We lounged on the couch and talked. He's a good man, and I'm happy and lucky to know him. Again, he should have probably left earlier than he did, but he was able to wish me a happy birthday on my birthday because he was here after midnight. I probably won't see him tomorrow at all, so I was grateful for that.
Tomorrow is going to be one of those days. I'd like to sleep until noon and then lie around and have people bring me things (tributes? loot? food?) until I decide to nap. Alas, I will instead be washing the rest of the dishes, balancing my accounts, and printing a boatload of misc. stuff that I've put off printing because it requires moving the laptop into the office (which I couldn't even walk through until I picked up the 8 [eight!] pairs of shoes that had accumulated in the doorway) and I'm too lazy to do that more than once a week or so. And I'll read the L J, charge the batteries for my camera (or, if I have a fucking brain cell left, drive my stupid sorry ass to Geneva and buy some new batteries so that I don't have to charge them every other day! If I'm at Ritz/Wolf, I could also get the tripod that I've been meaning to buy for ages. And some conditioner from Aveda, and scone mix and tea from Cost Plus.), and do laundry. And return the 10(?) overdue DVDs and CDs that are in front of my TV, perhaps stopping in to work on the grant report for a couple of hours, too. And send some birthday cards (sorely overdue, too--sorry, Elijah!) and thank you notes.
Ah, crap. I'll also need to call my parents, so that my dad doesn't call me at 3:00 on Sunday as always. 'Cause at 3:00 on Sunday I'll be at the Cubs v. Marlins game at Wrigley. With Dean and his parents. I'm very nervous. I like them very much, and they seem to "approve" of me, too, but...it seems like a very long time to spend with them. And I have no clue what to wear, since I can't wear a camisole or a t-shirt. It's a day game (first pitch at 1:20) but it gets cooler there so quickly. Yargh. Nerves.
I didn't think that happy would be like this. Dinner at quarter after 1. One huge part of my life inexplicably gone (happy 1/2 birthday, and I really didn't mean anything by the magnet). Loving my work but occasionally despising my job.
I heard the funniest thing from a coworker today. She's about 18 and has led a fairly sheltered life. She asked how my day-before-my-birthday was going and I said, "Eh, it's OK, but I'll be glad to leave here [work] because it's been a long week." She said, "So, how old are you going to be?" I opened my mouth to tell her, but she broke in, "Let me guess: 25?"
I laughed out loud.
"No, I'm turning 35."
"No way! You're not that old! You really don't look a day over 20."
I laughed again, but this time inside. I'm not one of those weirdos who treasures her signs of aging, but I know that I don't look 20. I haven't looked 20 in a while. And that doesn't upset me, because I wouldn't be 20 again for anything. Great friends, a secure family, a decent job (for the moment), and the most exquisitely glorious boyfriend imaginable.
This just arrived from WorldofQuotes.com:
There's meaning in that message for Cindy today, and for me, and probably for everyone. We don't have much time, so we ought to live while we have the chance.
Happy birthday to me. G'night. And if you call me tomorrow, make it after noon just to be on the safe side.
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