If anyone feels compelled to contest my age today, feel free, but I want you all to remember that you were always MUCH older than me and you are probably just forgetting exactly how MUCH younger I've been all along. I forgive your senile dementia just as long as you don't make a scene.
I woke up to someone making a scene. My office is now covered wall to wall in crime scene tape. There are balloons in case I want to pretend I'm at the circus (I don't) and there are pictures of clowns ALL OVER the place (and that's why). It makes me wonder why the police never bring balloons to crime scenes. It really pretties up every occasion, and crime scenes are always in the ghetto and full of lookiloos and kids, and who wouldn't find a balloon a good distraction? Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to move away from the scene now. Here, why don't you take this pretty yellow balloon over to your little kid there and pretend you were just at the circus instead? I also have a pretty good assortment of spiders scattered all over my desk, and while I do hate them, I find them not nearly as disturbing as the clowns. Scary clowns, party clowns, hobo clowns (the least frightening of them all, but still pretty creepy). The culprit turned out to be my mom, which was kind of impressive 'cuz when I see crime scene tape and clown printouts, I first think Justin. Turns out all of my kids were smart enough to know NOT to leave Mom clowns and still expect to live out the day.
I thank FB for letting the cat out of the bag to all of my friends that it's my birthday, but so much direct attention for a girl who much prefers the indirect kind is a bit overwhelming. Splitting hairs, I am NOT an attention whore. I want everyone and their brother to pay attention to my BLOG, but not necessarily ME. Pay no attention to the
Excuse me while I stop to cut down some crime scene tape. It apparently isn't long enough for my chair to really reach my desk.
Where was I? I'm curious to see how this day turns out. I have both parents here attempting to sneak things past me for this very ordinary occasion. It's hard to sneak things past someone who's home all day long. Just ask Jay, who tried to sneak past me yesterday downstairs with an old cardboard box with cables hanging out that has "nevermind" in it when I asked. I really did never mind until I heard him coming back upstairs with a heavy sigh which means he didn't accomplish what he wanted and that meant he was trying to hide something, which I knew before the heavy sigh because why would he be going down to the basement with a box of old cables? Last I checked, his name was NOT Larry nor does he hook up electronics around here, not ever. Even the after-dark decorating is ruined by the fact that I'm quite prone to lots of after-dark wandering, so I already saw the clowns and the balloons at about 4 a.m.
In the meantime, my dad arrived in town yesterday and is already at work making something called corn meal hash. I don't care to know what it is, but he cares to tell me and show me and force a spoon of it down my throat. "Not bad, huh?" Oh no, bad it is. I find it ironic that he's using a recipe to cook a dish that was part of his 'poor with no money and lots of mouths to feed' childhood that was probably concocted by some impoverished World War II mother just trying to keep from seeing her own kids' ribs sticking out, and now my dad is excited to see the recipe on the side of the corn meal box. I love when companies profit off other's people's misery, and I find it cute that my dad is nostalgic enough to recreate the fake food he was fed as a child.
I now have to wait expectantly for Justin to rise. Everyone knows a birthday isn't finished until Justin does his damage. I feel like a hunter in a tree blind, waiting patiently, watching and listening for every movement around me. I don't want to shoot a deer, and I really don't want to shoot Justin (not today), but I am very, very cautious of what is still to come. If it doesn't kill me, I'll let you know.
UPDATE: Scarier than the clowns is realizing my mom brought them with her a month ago! They pages have her printer information on them. I don't know what's scarier, that she's been in possession of (and thinking of) these clowns for a month, or that she got them past TSA at the airport. WTF? I thought they were supposed to check for weapons?
