Saturday, June 30, 2007

A Day Well Done

Well I must say that I sure like blogging. It's the only place were I can openly talk about myself and where it is well understood that this space is all about me.

Yep, no bones about it this place is for me to talk about me. When in life does a person take the opportunity to be this selfish? I can't think of a time besides therapy sessions. And those are expensive. Blogging costs only your time.

How delightful.

First thing this morning I get up to eat breakfast only to find that Patsy, the dog, has wet herself and her bed. You see patsy becomes incontinent when she takes antibiotics. And if you remember from my earlier post, she has recently been to the vet where she received an antibiotic in the form of a shot. We mistakenly thought that we were clear because she had no problems the next day. Ha! Silly us!

Poor Patsy must now wear her diaper. How humiliating.








Later that day I went shopping for new running clothes for my birthday. Now, this should have been really fun except I hate shopping and ended up crying in the car. Lucky for me Andy was with me and at the next store. He stood outside my dressing room and helped me pick out stuff. What a great guy.

Lastly, Andy orchestrated a big dinner at a little Indian restaurant. It was great and all my friends attended. The manager actually locked the doors because there were so many there and not enough staff to help. We had the whole restaurant to ourselves.

Afterwards most of our party came over to sit in our back yard and chat.

It was a good day.

Friday, June 29, 2007

Birthday Blues

My birthday is tomorrow and I have no plans. Birthdays for me are ALWAYS spent somewhere else. We are always on vacation for my special day. Growing up I was usually at girls camp which was cool because then everyone is there for your little party and you get sung to by 30 or 40 people. That's pretty cool when your 15.

Two years ago I was on the trip from H. E. double hockey sticks. I went to D.C. with my mom to visit my grandmother and if any of you know anything about her you know why it was such an awful trip. Then, last year, I was in Seattle and it was just me and Andy. That was a little sadder then I expected it to be.

All in all I must say that I usually do and get more then I expect.

Perhaps it is a mental block, but birthdays in general make me very uncomfortable. The whole idea of a special day every year when we celebrate just me. I don't know if I'm comfortable with the idea of my life being celebrated, or maybe I just secretly desire the recognition, but don't want to seem vulnerable. Guess we'll never know.

I have been feeling really nervous about tomorrow and the excitement or disappointment it may or may not bring. In a way I just wish I could not have a birthday and then all the pressure would be off. Wouldn't that be nice.

In a way I guess what bugs me the most about my birthday is how it is not really about me. It's about everyone else celebrating me. It's all up to them what kind of a day I have. It's up to them to get gifts or a cake or take me out to lunch. I'm not supposed to organize any of this. Maybe what I feel anxious about isn't the attention at all, but the lack of control over the day that is supposed to be mine. How ironic.

This is a picture of Andy and I last year in Seattle on my birthday.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

High-maintenance pooch

So, I discovered somthing this month, much to my surprise, all my old buddies from high school and college now have their own blogs. Now this fact should be a good thing but it is in fact a very bad thing. I am now pouring over each of them, and there are about a dozen daily. I feel like a spy. And not just a spy but a pathetic nose to the glass type of spy. So here's a little peek into my life. Just to even the score.

Yesterday we took our dog, Patsy, to our vet to get some moles removed. Andy dropped her off and when I picked her up the vet mistakenly called Andy (my husband) my son. Twice. Was that just one of those things, or does he really think that I am in my forties? I am 25! And Andy is three years older than me . And as if this wasn't enough of a slap in the face, Andy is twenty pounds overweight and I am in the best shape of my life. In conclusion, if the vet thinks my husband is my son then he must be high or I must really really need a makeover.


Holy crap what a cute dog. And is that a smile I
see on her already awsome face? Wow.