Today's my birthday.
Two things that make me sad:
1. No one at school knows my birthday. For some reason, I decided I wouldn't tell anyone unless they asked- because the little baby Jesus knows you always end up talking about when you were born when at work. It always comes up. Either people ask your sign or actually ask for the date. In the many years I've worked at school, no one has ever asked me. I know their birthdays. I've brought in many a cake and brownies to celebrate, but no one has ever returned the favor. I know it sounds all passive aggressive and long-term martyrish; however, I'm not nursing a butt hurt here. It'll be interesting to see if the question ever comes up.
2. For some reason, I keep adding a year to my age. I'm 42, but if I answered off the cuff, I'd say I was 43. I don't know the reason.
I woke up in a grumpy mood. I don't know if it was the grind of the week or some subconscious mind fuck about my age, but I was all sorts of out of sorts this morning. Which is ridiculous. I'm going with my sisters and good SIL to see Dave Matthews tonight; I should've sprung out of bed with a song on my lips and cartoon bluebirds twittering around my head.
Instead I scowled at the clock and growled at the fact that I had so much to do.
What I had to do: buy the ingredients for sangria (there's a bug in my ear telling me to make it for the Memorial Day picnic tomorrow), throw together said ingredients (keeping out the fruit so it doesn't turn all mushy), and grade papers.
I had my weekly talk with Tattoo Queen and was a very dull interlocuter indeed.
Then the mail came. Tattoo Queen sent me TRUE BLOOD seasons 1 and 2, LEGEND OF THE SEEKER (she and her workers are mad over it), and the TRUE BLOOD soundtrack.
I told my lazy self that I couldn't listen to the CD unless it was in my car. That was enough to get me showered and on the road.
The bridge was up when I drove into town (a 15-minute wait), I fucked up my thumb when I pulled my 12 of Corona out of the cooler (I administered some ice and Jameson on it; it's working quite nicely), and some bitch on the phone cut me off in the parking lot- but I didn't care. I was carseat dancing to "Do Bad Things with You" and the day couldn't be brighter.
Now there's only three-quarters of an hour until we leave for the concert. We're gonna get our drink on and listen to DMB like there's nothing but good and sex in the world.
Suffice to say, my mood has dramatically improved.