A Birthday Adventure

Not mine, mind you. My birthday (and impending doom! erm, my 27th birthday) is precisely 4 months and 13 days away. I think. Counting's not really my thing. ANYWAY, THIS adventure involves many people I love, but 3 especially, because their birthdays were last week, they all live in Pittsburgh, and I got to see each one!

Originally, I was going to catch a ride with some friends who were going to Pgh for the weekend on the cheap. Then I got a new job, and I couldn't take 2 days off work during my second week, so here I was sitting in my cubicle last Thursday, thinking "if only there was a way to go home this weekend...wait a second!" And I tromped over to travelocity to see if there were any last minute deals, which i haven't been successful with the last 10 or so times i've tried it, but lo and behold, my number was finally called, and lickety split, I had a flight AND a rental car for the weekend for around $200. I mentally patted myself on the back, taking all credit for so awesomely manipulating the situation in my favor.

After a jaunt over to the Museum of Modern Art to see a preview of the new Van Gogh exhibit (the exhibit is new, not the paintings, unfortunately. wouldn't THAT be awesome?) with my friend Bob, and probably the best dinner I've had all year (seriously, so so so good. he took me to the restaurant I've been living above for over a year and still hadn't been to), which included several cocktails, I drunkenly packed zero pairs of pants, 5 pairs of underwear, 2 toothbrushes, and an odd assortment of tops. Saturday morning, I awoke bright and early at 5 am to catch the train to JFK for my 8 am flight. I stopped at DD for coffee, and then got on the train around 5:30 am. Now, at 5:30 am, the few people who are riding the train are either a) up very early to go to work or b) up very late and going home from a bar/club/party. This is the kind of interesting mix you don't really get any other time of day. So, I'm sitting on the train, staring blankly at the ads across from me, sipping on my coffee in a half-awake daze when one of the latter kinds of people gets up from his seat down the car a ways from me, walks over to me and sits down next to me. He turns his body towards me and stares at me, waiting for me to look at him and/or say something. I am sleepy. I am annoyed. I have not had my coffee yet. I say, giving him a cursory slightly disgusted glance, "hi." Big mistake. I suppose that was all the encouragement he needed because he immediately told me that i was gorgeous, that he lived in brooklyn (obviously, that's the direction the train was headed) but was born in harlem (actually, he told me this three times) and then started asking me questions.

"I have a boyfriend," I said. Ah, the old standby. Although, I've found it only works about half the time.

"Oh, of course you do, baby, of course you do. You are a beautiful woman. Gorgeous. Did I tell you that I live in Brooklyn now, but I was born in Harlem? Where you from, baby?"

Damn.

So I told him that it was early and I didn't feel like talking and he finally (thank God!) got the hint, said he'd "catch me later" and went back to his seat down the train. I have to admit, I was momentarily flattered that I had gotten hit on at 5:45 in the morning, until I considered that a) he HAD to have been drunk, b) he had struck out at the club and I was his last ditch effort before getting home, and (worst of alll) c) I was the only female on the train. Also, he was ugly.

So, I got to the airport, had a lovely flight, picked up my rental car (a Mazda 6! SO FAST! SO SO FAST!) and surprised my Daddy and my cousin Keegan at the family birthday party, caught "The Dark Knight" again with my mom, grandma, and aunt (better the second time!), and expounded on the parallels between the Bible and Batman to grandma as I drove her home (I was trying to help her like the movie...I don't think it worked). Then on Sunday, we went out to breakfast before Mom and I hit the outlet mall , where i bought some kicky black knee boots from Nine West and a few things for work. Then, on to my final birthday, my friend Katie at her new house, where we hung out all afternoon and evening and watched the baby crawl around and petted the dog and discussed all of the decorating/renovating possibilities for her house (which seems HUGE, but probably only because i live in a bedroom the size of my cubicle). Then I drove the back roads home to sleep for a couple of hours before getting up at 3:15 am to fly back home.

All in all, a fantastic weekend.

And one of the reasons I love and hate New York. Because NOTHING RIDICULOUS HAPPENS when I'm anywhere but here, which was very relaxing and refreshing. Though, it's part of the reason I come back, too.

Do What You Want = Be Happy

Yes, it's that time again folks. The time when I realize i haven't blogged in weeks and so must catch you all up in one giant crazy nonsensical stream-of-consciousness post that most of you won't read to the end anyway. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt my feelings. But i'm sure you weren't worried, as stopping reading a post halfway through indicates a) annoyance or b) boredom. probably both. but i'm not here for you (sorry, true). i'm here for me. and i do what i want! yay! and so should you!

here we go:

so i'm perusing myspace today, and i see the profile of this guy i used to ahem "see" who was a friend but isn't so much a friend anymore and i wondered, "Why don't we hang out more?" Before realizing that the answer is that we're too busy boinking other people. i like the word boink as a euphemism for sex. it always gives me the mental image of two people's heads accidentally knocking together in a playful accidental way. which, i guess probably could be a deeper metaphor for sex if i thought about it, but i'm not going to. onward!

This week has been CRAZY. It's so bad that i haven't had time to buy groceries (for those of you who don't know, groceries are very important to me. i don't trust restaurants not to feed me poo-slash-weird chemicals-slash AIDS. and also i'm cheap and hate paying for food.). so i've been subsisting on takeout all week, BUT the upside is that I get to wear TWO (count 'em, two!) costumes this week! Tonight, I get to be a pirate at the jeerleader super-fun band night pirate-themed fundraiser, and then on Saturday, I get to dress like a Beauty School Dropout Mermaid for the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade. Yipee! Except that my beauty school dropout costume kind of looks like a futuristic military uniform of some sort, minus alien-evaporating ray gun. oh well. i'm sure everyone will understand once i'm hand-jiving. So that should be tons of fun, tonight and Saturday.

So, i've come across two articles in the past few days about changing from being a night person to being a morning person and here's what i think about that:
1. Night people get a bad rap as being lazy, but we aren't, we just function great while the morning people are being old-ish and going to bed at 9 pm.
2. But I don't WANT to be a morning person. I LIKE nighttime.
3. Night people should be able to work their corporate jobs on schedules that fit their sleep patterns. In today's global economy, i would think this would be an asset, as the morning people in Beijing could talk to the night people in the US, then we could have 24-hour-a-day office hours, thereby increasing productivity and strengthening the world global corporate machine. erm, wait. no. nevermind. that would never work. forget i said anything.
And D. There is too much emphasis on changing basic fundamental characteristics of who we are. Instead we should embrace ourselves instead of trying to change. Learn to love your nighttime awakeness, or your small boobs, or your giant schnoz, or your gayness (another article I read was about how they might someday try to "cure" homosexuality in the womb by flooding it with hormones so kids don't become queer...so, so disturbing), or your shyness or weirdness or nerdiness or can't talk to people of the opposite sex-ness. I say EMBRACE IT! Own it! I'm a nerd who doesn't have many friends and i can barely dress myself. so what do i do? I read books naked by myself! That's what. And do you know what else? It makes me happy! And if you're happy, it doesn't matter what other people think. unless killing people or something similar makes you happy. then you have a problem.

I've been writing quite a lot (for me, baby steps) lately, and i have an idea for a book that i've been working on and i'm really excited about it. i briefly (read: for 10 minutes) started to read the novel i wrote last October, but I wasn't really into it. So i stopped. I might revisit it later, when i'm done with my new super-fabulous (fingers crossed!) book idea. I would tell you about it, but I don't want to jinx it. I think it's going to be a cross between memoir, fiction, poetry, and short stories. I hope I can pull it off. But if not, it's still good practice, right? RIGHT! Which reminds me of this artist woman I was reading about who was talking about how adult people should be more like kids in the way that they create their art, as in, kids focus on the act of creating as their main goal, whereas adults focus on how their going to make money (or, rather, on the value of the end result), and how all of us adult artists might be more happy (and productive!) if we focused on the CREATING rather than what it may be worth to other people when we're done. i know that very idea has kept me from writing in the past, and the times when i write the most and best i'm writing to WRITE, not writing for other people. Which goes back to what I said about being happy. Do what you want = be happy. Write to write = be happy. Write worrying about what other people think = be unhappy.

Fantastic.

And finally and most importantly, a big shout out to one of the great loves of my life AND my first wife (her second), Ms. Gwendolyn Glover DeRosa, who was born today not so many years ago and who is a talented, gorgeous budding writer. Happy birthday, Gwen! I love you!

That's all i have for today. Kisses, babies!

yes, actually, i am planning to party like it's my birthday

BECAUSE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i was thinking today, because it's my birthday, about birthdays. specifically, about how people react to their birthdays. i think there are two types of birthday people.

1. The denyers
2. The shameless attention whores

Denyers won't admit, even to themselves, that it's their birthday. They tell no one, they lie about it if someone brings it up, and they shut themselves in their apartments/rooms/closets/bathrooms curled in the fetal position and rocking from side to side, waiting for it all to be over.

Shameless attention whores, on the other hand, begin announcing their birthday NO LATER than six months before the event. This usually begins with me, SHOUTING TO EVERYONE on August 8, "HEY! IT'S MY HALF-BIRTHDAY! GET READY! IN SIX MONTHS, IT WILL BE MY REAL BIRTHDAY!" then giving people weekly updates to let them know just how much longer they have before i expect them to shower me with attention, presents, cake (mmmm, a cake shower...can you even imagine????), love, adoration, facebook comments, text messages, phone calls, singing telegrams, clowns, strippers/exotic dancers, vacations to cabo, etc. also, attention whores pretty much base their self esteem for the entire year on how many people show them love on their birthday.

so far, this is the best birthday i've had since i was 21. AND IT'S ONLY 1:35 PM. AND I'M AT WORK.

I've gotten a LOT of love so far today (strangely, though, no vacations to Cabo. but it's still early). my boyfriend called AND texted at midnight last night, my mom called this morning, and several friends have texted, e-mailed, sent e-cards (2 birthday, 1 mammogram!), called, facebook/myspace messaged/commented, or walked over to my desk to give me a birthday song and dance routine (okay, only one of those. so far. but keep 'em coming.)

ANYHOW, all of that to say that it's been a really really really long time since i had a good birthday (really). and i feel so blessed (agh, i hate that word, but it's true) and lucky to have such a supportive, loving family of friends (and family, too, but mostly friends).

and to not be sitting alone in a big, scary house drinking a bottle of wine by myself and watching "Sex and the City" and crying because i have no friends.

man, 23 was rough.

i heart you all.

thank you for indulging my attention-whoreishness.

birthday madness

and now, back to my generally cheery-yet-at-the-same-time-wittily-sarcastic and adorable demeanor.

apologies for the manic-depressive episode yesterday. i think it has something to do with getting 60-seconds a day worth of sunshine, living with the spawn of Satan, and turning, ack, 26 tomorrow.

i'll do my best not to let it happen again. though, if you'll notice, all three of the above contributors to my mental state are for the most part beyond my control.

speaking of, i never understood my mom when she said, "You control your mood."

No, MOM, I don't. I control (or don't) what i say. i do not control how i FEEL. THAT is called repression. which is your problem, not mine.

so. there.

on the bright side, i am about to go hit all of the budget slutty-dress-and-other-party-accessories-for-your-body retailers within a two-block radius to find a party shirt-dress-other revealing accoutrement to wear for my birthday tomorrow. Whoever said you can't shop at Charlotte Russe when you're about to turn 26 was wrong, wrong, wrong! Baby Prostitute store, here i come!

I will let you know how it goes tomorrow. ON MY BIRTHDAY. TOMORROW. BIRTHDAY. TOMORROW. BIRTHDAY.

tomorrow

birthday

yay! let's celebrate impending wrinkles/fatness/sterility! woot!