So, yeah. They really weren't my family and now they never really will be.
Good to know I kinda knew it was coming.
The renovations were finished in the nick of time (with the exception of the windows) and the party was great. I didn't have to mix a single cocktail, though I was on a first-name basis with several before I left - getting home was done reasonably well, and functionality was definitely minimal the next day. I could have wished for more but didn't bother to disappoint myself with such musings.
So anyway ... On to Plan B! Who's got Plan B? ... Anyone? No? ... You left it in the car? Dammit. Go back and get it, we'll wait here.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
This is not my family. They don't know me at all.
So, it seems that the neighborhood is out to make me feel guilty.
I'm supposed to celebrate. My birthday isn't just for me anymore, it's for other people to come over, eat my cake (that I'm expected to make for them) drink my coffee (that I'm expected to make for them) while they sit and talk to each other. I get to play host and therefore not expected to take part in the festivities on my one and only personal holiday.
Wow.
I used to do this sort of thing and actually enjoyed it ... when was that? Oh! I know! When I was being paid to wait on others! It was my job! I was good at it and it was fun.
I do not enjoy my birthday. It is not a public holiday, it is a private one. For family (mine) only and very very close friends. No one in this country, with the exception of my Financial Advisor, qualifies.
I've worked out a neat little solution since moving here. - I leave town for my birthday. - Bugging off couple days before and staying gone until a couple days after. I've made sure to cover all my bases and avoid public appearances (parties, gatherings of any kind) until a week or so afterwards. Just long enough that it's past the Statute of Limitations for well-wishing. (Not difficult as I generally do not enjoy 'going out'). After a certain point, it's embarrassing for them to say anything and the situation is 'dealt with' in my book. - I don't do anything mean. I don't un-invite them. I just fail to mention that I have a birthday until several (6 or more) months later, and never tell people when it actually is. Keep 'em guessing, I say. And seriously, they are always more-than-welcome to stop by on my birthday, but they'll end up sitting on the stoop (in the rain, preferably). I won't be there.
My Financial Advisor's father's birthday is in September. What, pray tell, does this have to do with my birthday? Nothing. He's turning 60. Round numbers = massive parties. 70+ people expected, including Royalty ... not shitting. Royalty.
It's currently June, right? Guess what's already being worried about and planned to death? If you guessed 'the party' you'd be correct. Yes, the party in autumn.
This summer has a heap of renovations that are looming like thunderstorms in Oklahoma, but no one seems to be noticing. - The driveway is scheduled to be redone with cobblestones instead of the horribly unfashionable asphalt and the inner courtyard garden will be expanded to block of more of the already mostly inaccessible second garage door. - Cue endless problems of the person who is leaving first being parked in and needing the key for and also not knowing how to drive the car that parking them in - The house is getting new windows with scarlet-colored decorative shutters (bolted to the outside wall), the house will be repainted in a 'terracotta', that's looking more and more 'peach' every day. Are any of these subjects being discussed? No.
.... Contractors have yet to be chosen and color decisions haven't actually been made!
Oh, but 'how much salad, what desserts and how many days before-hand they can be prepared'? Oh, this takes up every waking minute of the day.
And without being properly asked, I've discovered I'm down for one pecan pie (pecans practically non-existent here, corn syrup doubly so) and have been volunteered for an entire evening on cocktail-making duty. The only thing I can do drink related is open bottles. I do not mix drinks. No matter how many 'recipes' you put in front of me, my drinks are undrinkable. - I guess they'll learn the hard way.
I'm supposed to celebrate. My birthday isn't just for me anymore, it's for other people to come over, eat my cake (that I'm expected to make for them) drink my coffee (that I'm expected to make for them) while they sit and talk to each other. I get to play host and therefore not expected to take part in the festivities on my one and only personal holiday.
Wow.
I used to do this sort of thing and actually enjoyed it ... when was that? Oh! I know! When I was being paid to wait on others! It was my job! I was good at it and it was fun.
I do not enjoy my birthday. It is not a public holiday, it is a private one. For family (mine) only and very very close friends. No one in this country, with the exception of my Financial Advisor, qualifies.
I've worked out a neat little solution since moving here. - I leave town for my birthday. - Bugging off couple days before and staying gone until a couple days after. I've made sure to cover all my bases and avoid public appearances (parties, gatherings of any kind) until a week or so afterwards. Just long enough that it's past the Statute of Limitations for well-wishing. (Not difficult as I generally do not enjoy 'going out'). After a certain point, it's embarrassing for them to say anything and the situation is 'dealt with' in my book. - I don't do anything mean. I don't un-invite them. I just fail to mention that I have a birthday until several (6 or more) months later, and never tell people when it actually is. Keep 'em guessing, I say. And seriously, they are always more-than-welcome to stop by on my birthday, but they'll end up sitting on the stoop (in the rain, preferably). I won't be there.
My Financial Advisor's father's birthday is in September. What, pray tell, does this have to do with my birthday? Nothing. He's turning 60. Round numbers = massive parties. 70+ people expected, including Royalty ... not shitting. Royalty.
It's currently June, right? Guess what's already being worried about and planned to death? If you guessed 'the party' you'd be correct. Yes, the party in autumn.
This summer has a heap of renovations that are looming like thunderstorms in Oklahoma, but no one seems to be noticing. - The driveway is scheduled to be redone with cobblestones instead of the horribly unfashionable asphalt and the inner courtyard garden will be expanded to block of more of the already mostly inaccessible second garage door. - Cue endless problems of the person who is leaving first being parked in and needing the key for and also not knowing how to drive the car that parking them in - The house is getting new windows with scarlet-colored decorative shutters (bolted to the outside wall), the house will be repainted in a 'terracotta', that's looking more and more 'peach' every day. Are any of these subjects being discussed? No.
.... Contractors have yet to be chosen and color decisions haven't actually been made!
Oh, but 'how much salad, what desserts and how many days before-hand they can be prepared'? Oh, this takes up every waking minute of the day.
And without being properly asked, I've discovered I'm down for one pecan pie (pecans practically non-existent here, corn syrup doubly so) and have been volunteered for an entire evening on cocktail-making duty. The only thing I can do drink related is open bottles. I do not mix drinks. No matter how many 'recipes' you put in front of me, my drinks are undrinkable. - I guess they'll learn the hard way.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
It's like pushing a rope.
So, having started this 'blog'-thing ... I promptly forgot it again. Not really. I just hadn't had time. As usual.
I had really been hoping to do some clichéing and 'turn over an new leaf' or some such ... but the Turning Leaf caught me again at a few parties, the annual week-of-panic shopping before wedding season starts and we both need something to wear, the heap of work that attacked me from left-field (but what's the point of working 'overtime' except for the chance to get some 'undertime' later?), and not to forget, the traffic that goes with summer here that sucks away the last of your will to live/write/breathe/get out of bed.
But I'm surviving the work. The shopping was mildy successful and the parties were tolerable (my ears have a different opinion but that's a ballgame of a different color).
Now, planning ahead into the distant future of Summer '09, I'm trying to heard the cats that are my budget, my 'financial advisor', my vacation time and my not-quite-in-law into an neat and orderly plan so that it can be completely ignored when the time comes to implement said 'plan'. If everything works out, we'll see the beach this year.
Good news? I got hold of the 'Introduction to American English' book that I've been wanting and my bullfinch flew away. The book is a surprisingly readable look at the American version of English from a cultural and historical viewpoint and the bullfinch was a wild one that I found back in March with a broken wing right before the last cold snap in our neighborhood full of half-starved and neglected cats. The book is entertaining, and Eric was finally able to fly.
I am going to miss his singing.
I had really been hoping to do some clichéing and 'turn over an new leaf' or some such ... but the Turning Leaf caught me again at a few parties, the annual week-of-panic shopping before wedding season starts and we both need something to wear, the heap of work that attacked me from left-field (but what's the point of working 'overtime' except for the chance to get some 'undertime' later?), and not to forget, the traffic that goes with summer here that sucks away the last of your will to live/write/breathe/get out of bed.
But I'm surviving the work. The shopping was mildy successful and the parties were tolerable (my ears have a different opinion but that's a ballgame of a different color).
Now, planning ahead into the distant future of Summer '09, I'm trying to heard the cats that are my budget, my 'financial advisor', my vacation time and my not-quite-in-law into an neat and orderly plan so that it can be completely ignored when the time comes to implement said 'plan'. If everything works out, we'll see the beach this year.
Good news? I got hold of the 'Introduction to American English' book that I've been wanting and my bullfinch flew away. The book is a surprisingly readable look at the American version of English from a cultural and historical viewpoint and the bullfinch was a wild one that I found back in March with a broken wing right before the last cold snap in our neighborhood full of half-starved and neglected cats. The book is entertaining, and Eric was finally able to fly.
I am going to miss his singing.
Monday, May 18, 2009
I seem to have forgotten how everything works. No surprises there. Never knew what was going on in the first place.
Haven't 'blogged' in a while - so long, in fact, that I have decided to start up a brand new one and try to stay out of trouble with it for a few minutes. This is not my life story. This is not my life. My life is more boring/interesting than this. Just depends on what you call 'interesting', I suppose.
No hobbies that can be shared, no pesky kids to mewl about, just a bit of space where I'm going to put some stuff that I'm tired of looking at lying in the middle of the floor or tripping over when I come stumbling in in the middle of the night, fuzzy with alcohol and imagined arguments. It won't fit in the closet anymore, I've cluttered that with ambitious plans that I can't use yet and dented dreams that I'm hoping can be polished up and set out for when I have guests. Fancy dinnerware, if you'd prefer. The good forks.
I'm clearing off some surface space. I've got projects that want working on.
The internets are full of this stuff. Adventures real and imagined. Observations that can't be shared with friends. Broken promises. Aching secrets screaming to be heard. The whispers of the dying or wishing to be dead. What's a bit more? Why bother to behave with the environment? No one else does.
It's a flea market for the soul. I'm just claiming my parking space. Just gonna park my caravan here, unfold this table a neighbor didn't want on scrap day, roll out the damp and threadbare fake grass carpet here and set up shop. Business will be booming in the morning. Bartering welcome. Mind the dog.
No hobbies that can be shared, no pesky kids to mewl about, just a bit of space where I'm going to put some stuff that I'm tired of looking at lying in the middle of the floor or tripping over when I come stumbling in in the middle of the night, fuzzy with alcohol and imagined arguments. It won't fit in the closet anymore, I've cluttered that with ambitious plans that I can't use yet and dented dreams that I'm hoping can be polished up and set out for when I have guests. Fancy dinnerware, if you'd prefer. The good forks.
I'm clearing off some surface space. I've got projects that want working on.
The internets are full of this stuff. Adventures real and imagined. Observations that can't be shared with friends. Broken promises. Aching secrets screaming to be heard. The whispers of the dying or wishing to be dead. What's a bit more? Why bother to behave with the environment? No one else does.
It's a flea market for the soul. I'm just claiming my parking space. Just gonna park my caravan here, unfold this table a neighbor didn't want on scrap day, roll out the damp and threadbare fake grass carpet here and set up shop. Business will be booming in the morning. Bartering welcome. Mind the dog.
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