Just want you for the things you couldn’t change, but you tried.
Best toaster ever? There’s a bsg one, too. It has, of course, a frakkin toaster on it.
I desperately want a life where this is part of the soundtrack. I suppose I should just be happy that Alanis Morrisette isn’t part of it either.
Don’t care what ya’lls say, this one of my favorite songs ever.
And the darker my mood, the harder it is to find my boot straps.
Oh Patsy, who hurt you? Other than that plane crash I mean.
Okay, I know it is the plight of sad young chubby girls who own cats and wear 1950s style dresses to complain about their lives. I know it is their destiny and their greatest fault. I do not want to complain to you peeps. I don’t. But I have to tell you, my birthday sucked. It’s not like this is a yearly thing. Last year rocked. I met some Nerd Fighters, went to manual’s, we went to the coke museum and fernbank the next day. AND THE VARSITY. This year just sucked.
Just plain sucked balls.
I couldn’t have cake because I’m on some crazy diet. I didn’t go out. I went to my parents’ (who are not talking to each other OR possibly just fine) where there was a grand banquet consisting publix rotisserie chicken (and that’s it) waiting for me. Oh yay! I know I’m on a crazy diet, but can’t you cut up some fucking cheese cubes?
My present was a bunch of regifted toiletries (at least I hope they were regifted. One of them was a “deluxe bath brush” to wash those hard to reach areas or whatever. I haven’t taken a bath since elementary school, so I hope she didn’t buy it. Baths freak me out. I’m a shower girl.) and cash. Cash? Are you a divorced dad in an early 90s movie? I’m mean, it’s fine from a granny, but my mom? I’m not trying to be an ungrateful bitch face, but for a quarter of the cash she could have bought me a CD I wanted, or a book on tape. It’s not like I didn’t list things I wanted on my blog or my amazon wishlist. Or like she couldn’t have looked at the endless list of music/movies/tv/books on my facebook (now that she’s on facebook) that I said I liked.
At least my dad’s gift was aimed at what I own and seem basically interested in. I got a tripod (because I’m often taking group pictures that I need to be in, or tape recording concerts…right?) and a subscription to an astronomy magazine. I mean, at least I like astronomy.
It’s not a money thing. My mom helps me out, she bought me a ukulele, and they’ve been very nice about this whole car wreck thing. But she could have made me a construction paper card and a weird 1940s show tune mix tape, and it would’ve been better than regifted toiletries and cash. I’ve had a rough week. Fuck it, I’ve had a rough year, and I needed someone to be all “i love you and it’s your birthday and even if you dropped out of school and have a messy house and some serious skin issues and wrecked your car or whatever, I think you’re special blah blah blah.” And my mom didn’t do that.
WTF?
I mean, she’s my mom!
And now I get to go to the awkward family gathering of the century for Ellie’s birthday. And I get to sit there and feel stupid because I feel jealous of a fucking baby because her birthday party had cake. (Actually mine had cake, but it was a cake I baked my mom for valentines day. Boy did I feel silly!) I mean she’s a baby! She poops herself! But people put some fucking thought in her gifts.
Anyway, I think it’s supposed to get better. There are more birthday celebrations this week that involve people far more insightful than my parents, as well as a dinner out with my parents post-diet that involves fondue. It wasn’t even the presents (although I don’t want to have to figure out where the hell I’m going to put my “deluxe bath brush”). It’s that there was no sense of “hey! it’s your birthday!” It was much more “It is your birthday” a la Dwight’s poster for Kelly on The Office.
“It is your birthday. Now open presents and watch SNL which you’ve already seen with your parents and squirm as awkward sketches about cougars and masturbation play. Then hole up in your childhood bedroom and watch television until your mom asks you to get her laundry out of the dryer before you go to bed, your father’s snore shakes the bedroom wall, and you’re forced to sneak some evil-tasting cinnamon schnapps so that you can fall asleep. Have an adequate birthday!”
The schnapps is hitting. I’m going to bed.
sincerely,
ungrateful bitch
