Song Lyric of the Day:
See the hands of my offspring making windmills / (Egad, a base tone denotes a bad age)
Well, today is the big day. I’m now 33. And the crowd goes wild. I enjoyed a great birthday celebration last night with my nearest and dearest. We had dinner at Altruda’s, my restaurant of choice (I’ve been craving Italian lately like you wouldn’t believe). I got gift cards to Kohl’s, Barnes & Noble, Borders, Target, and Best Buy, as well as Supernatural season two on DVD (Vanessa and Ken rock) and Grey’s Anatomy season three on DVD (Mom rocks, too). So many, many thanks to my mom and dad, Momma Carol and Papa Doug, B, Tamara, Vanessa, Ken, Samantha, and, of course, Rich, for coming. I’d like to make a special mention that Mom and Dad not only showed, but managed to enjoy themselves, despite their poor kitty, Winnie, having passed away unexpectedly in the wee hours yesterday morning.
As it is, my birthday got off to a sad start this morning when I took Mom to bury Winnie at the local pet cemetery. (I’d already scheduled my day off from work today, having declared my birthday as Pattie Day.) She felt awful that I was the one to take her, but I quickly pointed out that I’ve had far worse birthdays. At least I got to say hi to my beloved, still-missed dog, Spot, while we were there.
Tonight, Caren came over, with Willow in tow (much to Snoops and Caleb’s delight), to bring me my present: a gift card to Pottery Barn. She’s now earned enough points to have secured a spot on my shortlist of People I Would Donate a Kidney To. The gift card is particularly meaningful since she knows how much I’ve been lusting after the small black Bedford desk. I decided to focus on getting this particular desk since (1) my new desk will still reside in the same slanted wall/fixed ladder corner of the office, with its limited space; (2) I’ve been trying to find the perfect desk forever; and (3) you’d be surprised how hard it is to find a black desk with drawers. Turns out it’s like the holy grail of home office furniture. Rich has promised to pay the remainder of the desk’s cost if I write a couple of good chapters for my book. Emphasis on “good.” He’s a crafty con man, that one.
So now I’m another year older. I don’t feel any different, probably because I can still check the same age-range box on forms. I’ll start feeling different (in an old way) when I graduate to the next box. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the next couple of years until I do.