Less than a year . . .
June third is always so bitter-sweet. Just 364 more days, though . . .
My birthday was fan-frickin-tastic. I went for a hike, hoping to get some sun to disguise the fact that I'm the whitest white girl ever, and two people commented on my shorts and my legs. Good comments. Building my ego comments. So that was sweet. I then had a nice lunch, went shopping, and spent two hours at the coffee shop reading fiction. I don't work on my birthday. Especially a weekend birthday.
Then the party. Ah. The party. Barbecue, Elvis-inspired peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and, most importantly, my own pumpkin cheesecake. That I won't share with anyone, no matter how much I love you. Because (a) I'm selfish and (b) Maryanne is moving soon and this might be my last cheesecake for a while. Although she is staying at my house when she comes for a visit this August, and I think she should repay my hosting generosity with a cheesecake. Just a suggestion.
So thanks for all the gifts, nice people. Oddly enough, some of them were Elvis-themed. Actually, the truly odd part is that some were Elvis-free. I love gifts. And my birthday.
Today a few of us went to what I like to consider a breakfast-birthday-fun-continuation-thing, but I'm pretty sure was just a regular Sunday breakfast. On my way to the restaurant, I got a flat. And no one tell Gloria Steinem, but I called a guy to come a fix it for me. Because I'm the best feminist ever. In my defense, I know how to change a flat, but I was wearing heels and just had a manicure a few days ago.
While I was waiting for my tire-changer, a cute little old man walked by and offered to help. This offer lost some of its sincerity since it came with a comment on my shirt and my *ladies*. Okay, so the shirt dipped a bit low, but ew. Men in their seventies can't comment on that. And no one tell Jane Fonda, but had I not been able to call someone, I might have played up the shirt aspect. Who just set the women's movement back fifty years? I did. My feminism will always take second place to my OCD issues with getting dirty. Solidarity, sister.
My birthday was fan-frickin-tastic. I went for a hike, hoping to get some sun to disguise the fact that I'm the whitest white girl ever, and two people commented on my shorts and my legs. Good comments. Building my ego comments. So that was sweet. I then had a nice lunch, went shopping, and spent two hours at the coffee shop reading fiction. I don't work on my birthday. Especially a weekend birthday.
Then the party. Ah. The party. Barbecue, Elvis-inspired peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and, most importantly, my own pumpkin cheesecake. That I won't share with anyone, no matter how much I love you. Because (a) I'm selfish and (b) Maryanne is moving soon and this might be my last cheesecake for a while. Although she is staying at my house when she comes for a visit this August, and I think she should repay my hosting generosity with a cheesecake. Just a suggestion.
So thanks for all the gifts, nice people. Oddly enough, some of them were Elvis-themed. Actually, the truly odd part is that some were Elvis-free. I love gifts. And my birthday.
Today a few of us went to what I like to consider a breakfast-birthday-fun-continuation-thing, but I'm pretty sure was just a regular Sunday breakfast. On my way to the restaurant, I got a flat. And no one tell Gloria Steinem, but I called a guy to come a fix it for me. Because I'm the best feminist ever. In my defense, I know how to change a flat, but I was wearing heels and just had a manicure a few days ago.
While I was waiting for my tire-changer, a cute little old man walked by and offered to help. This offer lost some of its sincerity since it came with a comment on my shirt and my *ladies*. Okay, so the shirt dipped a bit low, but ew. Men in their seventies can't comment on that. And no one tell Jane Fonda, but had I not been able to call someone, I might have played up the shirt aspect. Who just set the women's movement back fifty years? I did. My feminism will always take second place to my OCD issues with getting dirty. Solidarity, sister.
posted by Ace | 10:47 AM
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