Thankyouverymuch, Mr. Blogger. You have officially sent my mojo off-kilter and skewed my groove. I like to blog at 10am. Today, apparently, you like to confuse me at 10am. And then refuse to let me post. Well, har de har to YOU, good sir, for I have a pal in Cali who can somehow get around this No Blogger For Chicagoland thingie. (Thanks, Wilder.)
Back to the blog.
I think we might be onto something with this whole birthday [thing that I’ve been cultivating for the past three decades].
And Facebook? Facebook is crazy. Where else in the known universe (besides MySpace, Friendster, Tribe, etc, etc, etc) can one have hundreds of birthday greetings flicked at them throughout the day? Regardless of the fact that Facebook guilts you into acknowledging such events every time you log in (and, uh, they mash two days together on the sidebar, making everyone think it’s one’s birthday a full 24 hours beforehand- which is not a problem) it still makes you feel kinda cool to have greetings from all different time zones, cities, portions of your life, that guy on the couch…
…And even if some of the wishes are a lower case, unpunctuated ‘happy birthday’ smashed onto someone’s wall willy-nilly, I don’t care. I accept. And I thank you. And I counted.
I might be growing up. Yesterday was the first year whereupon I did not go out to public locales simply to have the opportunity to exclaim, “Yes, it IS my birthday. You want to give me a free drink/ice cream cone/ComEd sweatband? Okay.” But I did wear a purple tank top from my mother in-law that proclaimed me to be “30…and flirty.” In rhinestones. It matched my purple and white skirt, a poor attempt to recreate the Birthday Outfit of my youth. (Not a birthday suit, thankyouverymuch. I have officially hit the age where No One Wants To See That.) I have plans for the “30…and flirty” tank. It involves numbered stickers for the years to come. Oh my goodness, I love running jokes.
Maybe I’m not growing up so much. I did, however, get past the abdominal vice grip that was the rollover into 30. Barely. It was more intense than Y2K and the ending of the Mayan calendar combined. (We’ll see, anyhow.) Nothing much has happened, thus far. But you know how people always ask if you feel different on your birthday? And you always answer no, kinda wishing you had something cooler to report? Well, this year, I feel different. I can’t put my finger on it yet. I might be taller.
And I gotta say- my husband Philip is pretty darned clutch in this transition into a new decade. He’s seriously like the cruise director of my birthday ship, or Mickey Mouse waving me into the Magic Kingdom, perhaps even that Walmart greeter who hands out smiley face stickers…
Friday night was heralded in with Middle Eastern goodness from Sanabel, our gem of a bakery/warehouse/addiction down the street. Our entire dinner (including a box of fresh macaroons) cost less than ten bucks. And there was a lot. Then we watched The Soup. Then we did laundry, which is not quite so awesome but quite important. (I believe The Flight Of The Conchords acknowledged the importance of recycling and such chores quite well in their smash hit “Business Time.”)
Saturday was neato, as I got to spend it with a handful of close friends- all bearing baked goods. There are honestly seven different types of desserts- most of them cupcakes- in my kitchen. And not just any desserts. These are all top notch edibles of the baked persuasion. Rhubarb apple crisp pie. Sweet Mandy B’s red velvet cake. Sugar cookies lighter than air. Trays and trays of miniature cuppycakes, all with their own neat trick (whipped cream INSIDE, for example.) Remember back when I was so worried about the baby weight? Well, apparently that was just a big ol’ panic button for the Big Day. Now that I’m safely on the other side of 30- Party on, Garth.
And the day itself? I had made a proclamation (to Peej and Nora, a very good pair of listeners) that I wanted my actual birthday to be lazy and kinda like summer camp. They obliged. The two of them conspired to let me sleep in (past 7am!) and then they fixed things so that I didn’t change one single diaper until 8pm last night. (I have no idea what kind of sorcery was going on there.) Nora gave me a miniature sterling typewriter charm for my bracelet- and it moves! (My mother had a similar one when she was younger- I’ve always, always wanted one of my own.) And so as not to embarrass P.J., I’ll just say that he outdid himself. With bling. Blingity blang bling. And let’s just say that he won. Forever. And left me speechless. (For at least an hour!)
Apparently I have no problem losing, now that I’m thirty.
Crosswords were penned in the hammock. The Sunday “paper,” (Parade, the Trib mag and the funners) were enjoyed on the couch- or the jumperoo, depending on one’s level of mobility. There were brief periods of crazy thunder that inspired us to do one of those thousand piece puzzles- which we did not own- so Peej ran to Walgreens and got the saddest, strangest looks. (One guy asked if he was bored.) The puzzle, by the by, is majestic. It involves- to say the absolute least- a panorama and a hidden mallard. Then there were naps. And lunch from my favorite place in Roscoe Village. And more starches and sugars (I felt hungover and beaten up this morning- eating this much is a serious thing! I don’t think I properly warmed up!)
We took a walk through Ravenswood Manor- where we consistently pretend that we live- and got caught in a bit of a rainstorm. (We were a wreck. Nora thought it was great.) When we got back, we found our lovely pal Nat waiting to give me a gift- I was pretty excited about both things. I don’t see him enough. But the gift certificate was pretty rad, too.
And then- Underworld, the extended, unrated, unbelievable version. Twelve extra minutes of never before seen footage! Turns out, twelve minutes in a movie like this equals out to a whole ‘nother plot. It was really great. Also great- the fifth helping of baked goods and wine out of our wedding goblets (we forgot all about them during our anniversary travels- hey, a holiday is a holiday.)
And tonight P.J. is taking me to see She & Him at Millenium Park, followed by a surprise dinner. I am superbly excited about these, but dearly hope that the “surprise dinner” doesn’t mean “Surprise, there’s no dinner.”
With the way I’ve been carbo-loading, my blood sugar would simply plummet.
I have to worry about these things now.
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