I realize I’m more and more like my dad the older I get. When my brother and I were little, we’d ask my dad what he wanted for his birthday. Every year, we’d get the same answer: “Two kids who love and respect me, and a clean house.”
But you need something!
I get it now.
Not that I have a clean house or kids or any of that. I get the sentiment.
I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m a cynical asshole. I don’t make a big deal about my birthday because there are 7 billion people on the planet. Being born was probably the least amount of effort I’ve ever done in my life.
Since last night, the husband, because he’s male, has declared it birthday boobies time. He’s done this for who the hell knows how long. It’s my birthday, but for some reason, this translates to random groping.
Weirdo.
This morning started out with me dragging my ass out of bed and into the shower – like always. My dad made his driving home from work call at 7am and I got to talk to him for a few. The longer the morning played out (read until 7:45) I started to worry because my mom is always the first person to call. I checked my FB messenger and saw she hadn’t been on for 10 hours and my brain immediately went to dark places. Since she had a heart attack, I freak out pretty easily. I don’t use my phone (if I can help it) when I’m driving so I waited until I got to work to call. Thank ye gods that I woke her ass up. She told me she would never die on my birthday. Thanks, mom. She also told me to check my bank account. I felt like I was back in college. Since I’ve had the same checking account since I was 18, she put $100 in it and said sorry for not sending a card.
One of my favorite memes I’ve seen about birthday cards or any kind of cards says something like, “Oh thanks, let me throw that away for you.” I used to keep them, but that’s how you end up with a basement full of shit.
I got to work and had a couple cards waiting for me at my office type area. Along with the cards, I had a package of Twizzlers (fuck yes) and a big-ass carrot cake cupcake (double fuck yes). I’m not much of a sweets or dessert person, but there are a couple that I would punch a puppy for. Not really.
My friend, that I call Pookie, wrote me the sweetest card. I went full vagina and got teary-eyed. Yes, I can get all emotional even if a card mentions me farting.
At least I know I’m not full tinman.
Yes, I tell the people that I love that they’re dicks. Even if they’re pregnant, they’re still dicks and I love my dicks.
I also found that my library friend blasted my birthday on the announcements. Lord, have mercy. Nothing will drive you bonkers, but in a good way, when over 800 little people know it’s your birthday. I’m not complaining – it was so sweet. I was serenaded by preschoolers which was precious. At the beginning of the year, I went into one of the preschool rooms to fix a problem with a smartboard and one of the little people asked, “Is she a queen?” Now, they all call me queen.
I did my normal lunch duty and as I’m sending my second grade kiddos out to recess, my third grade kiddos start singing to me. If I stay in this job, it’s not lost on me that the kiddos in the school are going to know me less and less. I had these third grade babies for computer lab when they were in kindergarten and first grade. The preschool, kindergarten, and first graders now only know me as the lady that comes in and fixes stuff.
Makes me pretty damn sad.
Moving on…
The officer that was as school today was very nice and brought me a bag full of my favorite candy – blue raspberry Airheads and a big fat coffee. My library friend also got me a sweet little notebook and a gift card to DD. I do love my coffee. I can drink it and fall asleep, but I love it.
At the end of the day, my favorite little guy brought me up a homemade card. I have a special place in my heart for this little guy and I just adore him. His card was so sweet and I got teary-eyed because that’s just kind of what I do.
What is says is, “I love you, Chicken.” I call him watermelon and he calls me chicken. Well, Rosenfart, but also chicken. His interpreter asked him if I was getting a Reese’s cup and he said yes but also three kisses because he loves me. You want tears? Because this is how you get me to tear up. I love my little nugget.
The husband came home a little bit ago with a slew of my favorite things from Olive Garden – appetizers. I’m an app whore and he likes to call me Misty add-on. While Olive Garden, which I call Garden of Olives because I’m weird, isn’t the pinnacle of culinary excellence, I also had our school lunch today, so I’m not a snob. I love seafood so I had some calamari and mussels.
He also got me a cute little BB-8 hat for the winter and a Chewbacca backpack for I don’t even know when I’m going to use it, but I will. He was hoping the cashier would ask how old his kiddo was so he could say, “My 36 year-old wife.”
Tonight has been spent in pajamas and watching documentaries. Tomorrow is a surprise but I have to be ready by 5:30pm. I’m trying to put away my cynical self that is hoping for a hotel room by myself so I can sleep but am open to other fun stuff.
Hooray to my late 30s.