Thoughts on turning 24
I woke up yesterday at 5:30am and for the life of me couldn't get back to sleep. (Found out later Mom was up at 5:30 and also could not sleep. Reliving that morning in the womb, perhaps??) Still, though, this was better than the way I was woken the second time. Doorbell rings, the boy and I jump out of a sound sleep. "Who the hell would be here this early (8am)?" shouts the boy. "Oh, crap" I declare as I remember I am to watch the Panklet that morning. I rush to throw on pants and disregard the fact that I am wearing a see-through top because it's just the Panko at the door. I open the door and scream "Oh! IT'S JIM!!" as I try to cover up. Then I remember he's seen my boobs before. It's not like it was a surprise; I did volunteer to watch mini-Panko, but the boy's alarm didn't go off.
So the morning of my 24th birthday was spent watching a very crabby boy. About two hours into it I decided he needed a nap whether he wanted one or not. (He did.) Then I called one of the places I applied at. She said she'd get back to me an in an hour. Two hours later, as I'm heading out the door for the English picnic, she calls. This is noon. "Can you come in this afternoon for an interview?" "Umm...yes?" "It would need to be before two. Can you be here at one?" I do the math in my head: Fifteen minutes to get there, must arrive ten minutes early to fill out application, no time for shower or curling iron. "Yes, I can be there."
The interview was one of the best parts of the day. We laughed, made jokes, and generally had a good time inbetween my answering silly interviewish questions. And they threw in a few that made me pause a little: What is your greatest failure? And some that I should have thought about a little longer: If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be? "Italy. I should be on my honeymoon." Then I told them I just got married and a new house and "all that good stuff, so I don't really want to be anywhere but home right now" which I'm afraid they took the wrong way. But then they agreed with me. And they continued to call my by my married name and declared how "cute" it was and that it was definitely an author's name. I couldn't make up something better if I tried.
No one was left at the picnic by the time I was done. I needed to get groceries. I ate lunch by myself in the corner of Taco John's. This is another reason why I'm disenchanted with birthdays. This is what birthdays are really all about. And the boy didn't get me a present, didn't get me a card, didn't wish me happy birthday until almost noon (when I reminded him of this). I can't say I'm surprised, but it's the first time it has ever been his wife's birthday. He's never had to celebrate HIS WIFE'S birthday before. And while maybe it's my fault because I was never that bothered by it before, I can't say I wasn't a little peeved at the guy who didn't bring me flowers. We remedy that today. He's stuck buying me boots with pointy toes, and he promised not to complain the whole time. Can't ask for much more than that.
On the flipside, Smith can make a fantastic cupcake. Chocolate with chocolate frosting. HOMEMADE chocolate frosting. Even my mom never made me homemade frosting. And some had Smith's attempt at a phallic design...I was impressed even though I stayed away from those particular ones. And while the porn she bought me hasn't arrived yet, I am still grateful she provided me with birthday cake and good lovin. Congrats, Smith--you're better than my husband. Let's say I leave him for you? Plus you make a mean meatloaf.
So the morning of my 24th birthday was spent watching a very crabby boy. About two hours into it I decided he needed a nap whether he wanted one or not. (He did.) Then I called one of the places I applied at. She said she'd get back to me an in an hour. Two hours later, as I'm heading out the door for the English picnic, she calls. This is noon. "Can you come in this afternoon for an interview?" "Umm...yes?" "It would need to be before two. Can you be here at one?" I do the math in my head: Fifteen minutes to get there, must arrive ten minutes early to fill out application, no time for shower or curling iron. "Yes, I can be there."
The interview was one of the best parts of the day. We laughed, made jokes, and generally had a good time inbetween my answering silly interviewish questions. And they threw in a few that made me pause a little: What is your greatest failure? And some that I should have thought about a little longer: If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be? "Italy. I should be on my honeymoon." Then I told them I just got married and a new house and "all that good stuff, so I don't really want to be anywhere but home right now" which I'm afraid they took the wrong way. But then they agreed with me. And they continued to call my by my married name and declared how "cute" it was and that it was definitely an author's name. I couldn't make up something better if I tried.
No one was left at the picnic by the time I was done. I needed to get groceries. I ate lunch by myself in the corner of Taco John's. This is another reason why I'm disenchanted with birthdays. This is what birthdays are really all about. And the boy didn't get me a present, didn't get me a card, didn't wish me happy birthday until almost noon (when I reminded him of this). I can't say I'm surprised, but it's the first time it has ever been his wife's birthday. He's never had to celebrate HIS WIFE'S birthday before. And while maybe it's my fault because I was never that bothered by it before, I can't say I wasn't a little peeved at the guy who didn't bring me flowers. We remedy that today. He's stuck buying me boots with pointy toes, and he promised not to complain the whole time. Can't ask for much more than that.
On the flipside, Smith can make a fantastic cupcake. Chocolate with chocolate frosting. HOMEMADE chocolate frosting. Even my mom never made me homemade frosting. And some had Smith's attempt at a phallic design...I was impressed even though I stayed away from those particular ones. And while the porn she bought me hasn't arrived yet, I am still grateful she provided me with birthday cake and good lovin. Congrats, Smith--you're better than my husband. Let's say I leave him for you? Plus you make a mean meatloaf.
posted by KC in Katoland at 9:51 AM
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