Taken with one of my birthday presents (that arrived today!), a new digital camera that totally KILLS my old camera in quality and features at a third of the price. My old Kodak EasyShare DX4330 now goes for about $30 on eBay. Mine isn’t even worth that much though, as I think I’ve nearly killed it.

Of course, this new one almost too good. You can see all the little bits of cat food that Lish somehow manages to get everywhere and I’m a little slack about cleaning up.

Enjoy the cat picture now - there aren’t likely to be many more. I’ve had it for about 3 hours and Lish has already learned to hate this camera as much as my old one.

So has David:

Sadly, I am still waiting for the thing that I mentioned in the last post, so I am still dying to tell you about it but won’t. It will either be a really cool story or a sad lament. But you’ll just have to wait and see…

In the meantime, I’m starting to feel human again, finally. My humanity was in question last night. This weekend I ended up going 34 hours without sleep - the longest stretch I’ve ever pulled - and even after getting 10 hours of sleep Sunday morning / afternoon, the effects of sleep deprivation (combined with some junk food binging) had me feeling really funky. It was not a pretty sight. I’m still off kilter a bit - which is probably why I’m still awake at 4 AM - but I’m feeling better.

Long, boring story as short as I can make it: David and I had to go to his sister’s wedding at a location damn close to the coast of Virginia this weekend. We drove down for the wedding over Friday night and drove home Saturday evening. Staying overnight with his family wasn’t really an option, due to work commitments and financial considerations, but it had been made clear to us that our attendance was not optional. So despite the scant 2 weeks notice and encroachment on my birthday weekend (I turned 32 on Thursday!), we did what we could.

The drive was long and tedious - nearly 10 hours there and 11-plus to get home. Since most of our driving was done at night, there wasn’t much to look at, and David tried to nap for a notable portion of the trip (since he’d had to work Friday, he was operating on even less sleep than I was), so it was mainly just me and the 10 mixtape CDs I’d made for the trip. (Though I did giggle a little every time I saw the sign “Speed limit enforced by aircraft.” The phrasing just causes me to imagine low flying military craft circling overhead waiting to “enforce” the speed limit by launching a missile at the next red Mustang that goes racing by.)

There were a few things that really made the whole trip worthy. On the drive from the hotel where his family was staying to the wedding, I spotted a Food Lion (which is a prominent grocery chain in the Southeast), at which point I had an epiphany: I could stock up on Duke’s Mayonnaise at a normal price! (Ok, so as epiphanies go, not the most profound one ever, but you have to try and understand how important my Duke’s stock really is to me - when I order it online I pay $5 a jar.) We stopped on the way back to the reception and grabbed as much Duke’s as we could carry (along with some other assorted items, like a 6 pack of Sun-Drop for Marshall). Happiness temporarily replaced the dread of the drive still to come.

Of course, I had already planned another part of the trip that would make it a real success. The day before we were to leave, it dawned on me that there are Bojangles’¹ locations in Virginia. Though my initial excitement over this realization faded some when I noted that none of those locations was even close to our route, careful study of the list of their locations when compared to my Google maps travel plan led me to conclude that by going around the other side of Washington D.C. as we headed home, we could leave the freeways briefly, destined for a Maryland Bojangles’ location and grab a bunch of sausage biscuits, seasoned fries, and a half dozen Bo-berries. Though it proved to lengthen our trip by nearly an hour (partly because of traffic near D.C., partly because of the sloooooooow service at the Bojangles’), I’m still glad we did it. Our detour enabled me to at least glance at some D.C. landmarks as we drove past, where our original path would have been too far away from the actual city to see anything. And David - who has listened to me extol the virtues of the Bojangles’ sausage biscuit for 5 years now - after finally getting to taste one Saturday evening proclaimed that it was indeed well worth the extension to our drive. I fully agreed, seeing as it had been 4 years since the last time those buttery biscuits had graced my tastebuds. Plus they gave us a sweet potato pie for free since we had been gracious about the long wait for our order, and that was a most delectable freebie. (I don’t remember that being a menu item last time I was there either, but that could just be a faulty memory.)

Oh yeah, the wedding and the reception were nice too. And I do truly like David’s family, so it was nice to spend some time with them. But the mayonnaise and sausage biscuits were the stars for me.

Is that wrong?

 

 

¹ I shall endeavor to explain a little, as I know not all of you reading this will know what I’m yammering on about here. (Those of you who do know though I’ll bet can understand…) Bojangles’ is a fast food Cajun style chicken n’ biscuits restaurant that started in Charlotte, NC and now can be found throughout much of the Southeast U.S., but not in most of the rest of the country. (Stop before you say it! No, Popeye’s is NOT the same thing. Not by a long stretch.) Though there are other menu items worth mentioning, Bojangles’ has perfected the Southern specialty of the sausage biscuit, and delivers it fast food style. No other fast food outlet can even come close (though way back in the day - before Carl’s Jr. took over the chain - Hardee’s was a contender). The things that McDonald’s and Burger King market as such should not ever be referred to as sausage biscuits, as neither component is actually sausage or biscuit. (Though I’m guessing “grayish, gristle filled, formed meat patty sandwiched between layers of frozen-then-reheated flour paste” wouldn’t sell very well, it is a much more accurate description.) And then there’s the Bo-berry… a blueberry biscuit drizzled with icing… yum!

Whenever I’ve been back to North Carolina to visit, my first stop after leaving the rental car place has always been the Bojangles’ just outside the Charlotte Douglas airport, and I’ve always tried to make it the last place I visit before going back into the airport. When my dad returned to the States after living in Germany for 8 years, the first thing he wanted to do was go to Bojangles’. Yes, really. It is *that* good.

Today started off bad. I woke up late, there were issues with the water in our building (this is an all too common occurrence), and a lovely hairball was waiting on me in the living room when I made it in there. It only got worse from there…

Some twat apparently decided that Diverse Universe would look better with a brick through the window last night. I mean, the moron didn’t actually make it through the double paned glass, and it looks worse now, what with the duct tape and plywood to protect it, than it did after he had his little bit of fun, but he did manage to do enough damage that repair is going to cost more than I make in a month.

(I have never understood the need for destructive vandalism. As a teenager, I won’t deny that I left my mark in a few places with the aid of a Sharpie from time to time - though now I couldn’t for the life of me explain why I needed to do that - but I never felt the need to actually cause real damage to anything. What is it that drives people to do such stupid things?)

Then there was work to do, and customers in the stores, and busy, busy, busy. The people that technically own my leased car called to inquire as to why I had not yet made the March payment. (Um, because I don’t have the money at the moment?) And with the whole running late thing, I didn’t have a chance to grab something to take for lunch today and we were too busy for me to run over to the lovely Drug Mart across the street to grab a snack, so I didn’t have anything to eat from about 12:30 till closing. Not eating for more than 8 waking hours makes me a little grumpy.

What I mean to say is that today sucked.

But then, I got home. As soon as I walked in the door, I knew something was weird. The smell of garlic permeated the air… I looked at David and said “What did you try to cook?” (A. He RARELY cooks. B. I wouldn’t think he would cook with garlic if he was going to, since he’s always complaining that I use too much garlic in my cooking. C. When he does try to cook, it usually means a big mess in the kitchen for me to clean up.)

“Um. Dinner for you. Or at least I tried to… I don’t know if it’s any good… I think it might be too garlicky.”

Sweetie, I have tried to tell you before, there is no such thing!

Anyway.

Fearing the worst, I peered into the dish. Ok, it looked alright. I took a bite. I nearly drooled on myself.

“Yum! Honey, this is wonderful! Thank you!!”

After consuming a large serving of the most wonderful garlic/olive oil/red pepper pasta (low carb pasta of course) dish I’ve had in a while, I noticed he’d cleaned up the kitchen too.

“Yeah, I made a big mess when I was making that so I had to clean it up.”

Wow… I was speechless. (Knocking me speechless is a real feat, ladies and gentlemen.) Sometimes he can really be sweet. These are the days when I start to feel guilty about occasionally plotting his demise.

Stuffed, and feeling oh so much better, I went to change into my around-the-house-clothes, and noticed the mail. Why was there a letter from my dad there?

I opened it. Cute card, we miss you, letter inside. Unfolded the letter and a check fell out. A BIG check. No, like, nearly a month’s salary big check. I - and I mean this quite literally - fell to the floor where I had but a moment before been standing and began to hyperventilate a little bit.

The timing - for both my boyfriend and my father - couldn’t have been better.

Now, the real reason I’m telling you all this is really just that I wanted to share the letter my dad enclosed. (Which I read after I’d managed to start breathing normally again.)

Dear Grown Kid, [I’m guessing they sent one of these whoppers to my step brother too]

We just wanted to give each of you a little lift today. Not expecting eternal gratitude and not trying to buy love, but thought how nice it would have been when we were younger just to get a little unexpected prosperity once in a while.

Only thing we ask in return is that you read the following paragraph, and consider that you might be getting good advice from some older souls:

Only condition for cashing this check is that whatever you do with the money, you spend at least a little having a good time. We have all kinds of wants that sometimes feel like needs, but which we deny ourselves because of what seem to be more pressing needs. Don’t neglect to give yourself something you want, for no other reason than it’s good to be good to yourself - as in all things, with something like moderation.

Night on the town would be our advice, but your old thirtysomething heads might be somewhere else; so disregard that specific advice as much as you want to.

Also be moderate about being moderate. Any virtue taken to an extreme is a vice.

With love,

Reading something like that might give you a tiny bit of insight as to why my mind works the way it does. I was raised like that. (Though, I was NOT raised with extravagant gifts of large checks. This is a new development - as we were poorer than dirt when I was growing up. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.)

Just a few hours ago I was dead tired and dragging my ass home from work. Right now I’m so hyper and jazzed up with happiness and a good dinner that I didn’t have to cook, I don’t think I’ll sleep for a few more hours.

And of course, I’ve got some product research to do. Though I know that many of you will think me crazy for wanting to spend a windfall on such an item, I’ve been talking about buying one of these for over a year, and now, I really can. (Though I haven’t yet decided on the exact model, this is the one I like best so far.)

With this, I might be able to go from a roller coaster day to actually fitting my big ass into the roller coasters at Cedar Point comfortably. (Don’t ask, you don’t want to know.)

Not so long ago, I made enough money to live comfortably, travel occasionally, and pay the bills without a struggle. The only time I had to pay late fees was when I blanked out and forgot to pay the cable bill.

These days, life is different.

I chose to leave that career path with a goal in mind: happiness. The goal to be happy, specifically with your job or career, is widely regarded as a lofty one. So many people toil away in jobs they can’t stand, working for companies they don’t respect, and spend a lot of time (and money) trying to relieve the stress that builds from the situation. Some of those people just think that’s the way it’s supposed to be; you’re not supposed to like your job, it’s just something you have to do. A lot of people I’ve known look at work solely as a means to an end: they work their way up the corporate ladders or take the high paying but back-breaking manual labor jobs so that they can have money or a nicer house, car, whathaveyou. They don’t like their jobs or find any tangible amount of fulfillment in them, but as long as they can have the material things they want, it doesn’t matter.¹

I’m not like that at all. Actually, I wish I could be like that; I’m generally good at whatever I put my mind to, and I’m sure I could work my way up the ladder quite well if I could let the stress of it all roll off the way so many others do. But I put my heart and soul into whatever it is I’m doing, and if I don’t feel like I’m getting something out of it or helping others along the way, it just makes me crazy. The way I figure it, most of us spend more waking hours at work than at home, so I need to be able to find some enjoyment in what I’m doing.

I’ve sampled a lot of different jobs in my relatively short time as a working stiff. I’ve worked in a couple of restaurants, a cash office (sort of like a bank job), several record stores, a snack bar and a gift shop in an airport, a convenience store, a couple of clothing stores, and a couple of hotels. I did a short stint as a market research rep, some telemarketing while I was in high school, and cleaned offices for a little while. I worked as a music writer and editor without pay while sliding by on unemployment for a bit. I even tried my hand at home-party sales at one point. (Though it was more or less just a multi level marketing junk sort of thing.) On the higher end of the salary scale, I’ve tried tech support, software engineering, customer service management, and project management.

The only times I’ve been truly happy though were when I was working for a really small company in a position that allowed me to work with people and to truly contribute to the business while working for someone who I respected and admired, regardless of the amount of money I was making. Which is to say that I was truly happy when I worked for Marshall at a record store 10 years ago, and and I’m truly happy working for Marshall in the stores now.

What I do now is just a few steps short of my total dream job. In fact, the only thing I think that really keeps it from being my total dream job is the pay. As a struggling small business owner, Marshall is paying me what he can, and truth be told, if I could afford to work for free I would. That is how much I love what I’m doing and how much I adore the man I am working for. I don’t want to make a lot of money; being rich is a nice thought in the abstract, but it’s never really been a goal of mine. But I would like to make a little more than I do, just because I would really like to be stress free. I traded job stress for financial stress.

I had it planned out when I decided to leave corporate America. I had a nice little nest egg that came from a stock option sale, and I had figured out how to reduce my expenses so that I could squeak by comfortably enough. The problem is, no matter how well you plan things, the unexpected can really throw you for a loop, or two, or three. It took longer for my boyfriend to find a job than we’d planned for (and we had planned for 6 months of unemployment, so that’s saying something) and he still doesn’t have a permanent job, which has meant intermittent periods of unemployment between temp positions. His car was totaled in an accident 3 months after he’d finished paying for it, and he was only carrying the minimum insurance required by law so he was basically left with nothing at the end of that. Then last summer I had to have back surgery, which meant medical bills and time out of work. As time goes on, just as we start to catch up (or at least tread water) something new pops up to kick us in the ass. In the past month it’s been an emergency dentist visit, an emergency vet visit, and a power bill that almost literally made me cry. It’s been a frustrating time period, and I’ve been affected with a bit of depression over the whole situation. Things were starting to look a bit desperate.

But things are looking up, at least temporarily. Today we learned that my boyfriend - due to his hard work - is getting a raise for his temporary job. It’s still a temporary job, so there’s still a hurdle in the way of security, but the raise is substantial enough that as long as he has this job (which they think will last for at least another couple months), we’ll be ok. We might even manage to catch up some.

I’m feeling a bit more optimistic tonight… it’s a good feeling. I hope it sticks around for a while.

¹I don’t mean to say that everyone who makes money is miserable; many people who live comfortably enjoy what they do. So very many people I’ve met though hate their jobs with a passion.

My boyfriend and I respect each other’s privacy. Well, it’s more like I’ve made it very clear that I expect my privacy to be respected, and in turn I don’t violate his. He probably wouldn’t even care if I did; it’s not a big issue for him. For me, privacy is a big deal. It’s not that I have a ton of things that I hide from him or anything, it’s just that it’s my stuff. (Not having siblings till I was older kind of warped me that way. I didn’t have to endure sharing my space with anyone as a young child, and so I’ve never quite been able to do that with anyone.)

To that end, I have never rifled through his dresser drawers. I have no idea what he keeps in there, despite the fact that my stuff occupies several drawers in the same dresser. Most of them are filled with clothing, but he does have a couple of “junk” drawers as well.

A few weeks ago, as I entered the bedroom to go to bed, I heard a faint buzzing sound. At first, I thought it must be coming from outside. As I walked toward the windows though the sound grew fainter, so it had to be coming from inside the room. I finally determined the sound had to be coming from within a dresser drawer, one of the drawers designated as his.

My own toys that make buzzing noises (to paraphrase the way Supine so beautifully put it, those toys that are battery operated and are for women) are packed away in my lair. (Yes, I have more than one. I get a discount on ‘em, you know?) And even though he knows full well they are there, he wouldn’t have taken one of mine and stored it in his drawer, would he?

To snoop, or not to snoop? Did my boyfriend have a toy that was battery operated and for boys in his drawer? (Or one that’s made mostly for women but I sell to men in the store all the time?)

I decided to not snoop, not so much because I was respecting his privacy though. It was because while I was pondering the decision, I heard him coming toward the room to also go to sleep. The thought of him walking in to find me leaning over his drawer and turning off some vibrating toy that was hidden from me was a bit too much. So I laid down, feigned sleep, and tried to ignore it. I guess he didn’t hear it, because he just came in, shut off the light, and drifted off to sleep.

I laid there, tortured. Not only because the noise was driving me mad, but because I kept trying to figure out what it might be. I tried to think of non-sexually oriented items that could be making that noise. An electric razor? No, he’s got two of those, but they’re both in the bathroom. An electric toothbrush? No, that’s also in the bathroom. So of course, the only things I could think of were all toys of a more sexual nature, and I didn’t want to imagine what he might have hidden away from me… what was he secretly into? I didn’t want to ask him what it was… I mean, I like to think I’m pretty open minded and open with him, and we’ve been together nearly 4 years so I thought I knew all his secrets by now… but I guess if it’s a secret I don’t know by now I don’t really want to know… I finally drifted to sleep, visions of sex toys appearing in my dreams.

The next morning, I woke after he had left for work, as I usually do. The noise was no longer present, but I still remembered where I had heard it. I thought about it for a moment or two, then decided my imagination couldn’t take it any longer; I had to know what had been making that noise. Privacy issues be damned.

I opened his drawer to find…

(more…)

A little over a week ago, I finally admitted to my boyfriend that I’ve been blogging again. You see, I had to, because I had casually told him that I was chatting with a lesbian one night, and he sort of got it into his head that that’s what I’ve been doing every night, all night, and until the wee hours of the morning. (Though I am usually chatting with her through most of it, to be honest.) I think he was starting to worry that I was going to run off and leave him for a cute girl.

I hadn’t told him that I’ve been blogging again for the last 5 months for two reasons:

1. I didn’t want him to read my blog. It just makes me feel weird when people I know read it. (Though I’m slowly getting over that as it’s happening more and as I’m getting to know more of my readers.)
2. He just doesn’t “get” the whole blogging thing, and I didn’t want to spend a lot of time explaining it, again.

I say again, because I’ve had to explain it before. I was a blogger when we met. I started my first blog in 2000 using the exciting new web app Blogger, when I was depressed and friendless in the big scary city of LA. I had no one to talk to other than my cat, and she didn’t seem to be all that interested in the fact that someone at work had really pissed me off that day. My long distance bills were already through the roof from the times I did talk to my friends and family back home, and I couldn’t quite justify adding to it to share the minutiae of the day, And really, they loved me and all, but they didn’t care any more than the cat.

So I blogged it all. Blogging was a pretty new phenomenon back then, not nearly as ubiquitous as it is now. I wouldn’t consider what I did exciting or trailblazing by any means (When I read back through it I realize just how boring my life was at that time… I’m still amazed that anyone else ever bothered to read it.) but it was damn good therapy. Cheap therapy at that. It helped me get through a rough period of my life with few, if any, permanent scars.

As my life situation changed - new job, new friends, more social life - I found I had less and less to say on the blog. I kept at it for a while after I met my boyfriend, but the focus had definitely changed and I basically just posted something really random once every couple of weeks. I finally decided it was officially dead in 2003.

So when we met, I had to explain the reasons I blogged because he didn’t quite understand the point. I told him what you just read above there: I needed an outlet because I had no one else. He accepted that reasoning, an argument that was strengthened by the fact that I needed to do it less and less as I had more of a life, and moved on.

All along I’ve been a blog reader though. I’ve always enjoyed them, from the personal diaries to the topical blogs (political blogs not-so-much, with the exception of AAD), and I’ve lurked about a number of them on a regular basis for years now. Late last year I discovered a few new ones that inspired me to give it a try again. (And I found WordPress, which totally kicks Blogger’s ass.) Only, I wanted to do it differently this time… instead of the details of a boring life, I wanted to tell the stories that make up my past, and occasionally throw in something more current just to keep me grounded in the reality of who I am now. Plus, I have an interesting job that I figured would eventually give me some fodder. (Though that hasn’t really panned out.) I am a writer at heart, but I don’t have the will and discipline (and I sometimes doubt that I have the talent) needed to be published via traditional means. My stories have no cohesion, nothing that ties them together enough for a book. I have doubts about the relevancy of print periodicals in this day and age (as I’ve mentioned elsewhere), and besides, most of them aren’t really interested in stories about 14 year old girls who fib their way into nightclubs to meet uber-cheesy hair metal bands. But I’m plagued by this NEED to write, so blogging is really the perfect outlet for me.

In January, I started this little thingy here, but I didn’t tell my boyfriend I was doing it. I didn’t tell anyone that is part of my daily life that I was blogging, only a few choice friends who live far away and a couple of local boys I don’t see often enough. (AHEM! I said I don’t see you often enough!) I was found out by a couple of friends, who I happen to work for and with, because I forgot to clear the history in the browser one night before leaving work. D’oh! Then I met a new friend and the topic of blogs came up in our first conversation, so I told him about it. (Though, as I’m sure he will recall, I was hesitant to give him the URI.)

It actually sort of bugged me to be keeping a secret from the boy I live with, especially when others in my life knew about it (and had been warned not to mention it in front of him). I felt like I was lying, and I’m just really no good at that. So I finally confessed to him, and though he did agree to not read my blog (he has no interest in reading any blogs anyway, which I find strange), he was confused about why I felt the need to blog again. Given my previous explanation for sharing my words with the world, I suppose it isn’t all that surprising that he didn’t really see it as a good thing. I tried to explain it all, and he said he understood to a certain point, but he still doesn’t quite get it. I think it makes him a little insecure that I want to tell my stories to anyone other than him.

He’s still a little on edge about my new female friend who happens to dig girls, and today George Nemeth (of Brewed Fresh Daily) stopped in the store to say hello. I mentioned this when we talked on the phone this afternoon. (He was sharing the WONDERFUL news that it looks like he’s finally getting a permanent job, though still as a contractor. Ironically, this is thanks to a lead from the girly he’s a bit nervous about.) After agreeing that it was really cool of George to drop in, he asked me, “Now, is he someone I should be worried about? I mean, should I be jealous?” He said this in a joking tone, but I know there’s a part of him that actually ponders these sorts of things.

I quickly answered, “No, no, no honey. George is cool, but I’m not thinking of anyone else in that way and you know it. Besides, if I met someone you should be worried about, I probably wouldn’t tell you about it.”

I don’t really think that set his mind at ease.

_{Apologies to those who have heard bits and pieces of this from me in conversation (and in comments). This is one of the reasons I was bugged by people I talk to reading the blog. It’s like a summer rerun for you, and like most network television, it probably wasn’t that interesting on its first airing.}

I’m sorry. I know it’s a cute cat picture. Everybody hates cute cat pictures. But it’s my cute cat, dammit. So praise her! Praise her I say!

She’s famous too. Last year she made the cut to be one of the cats that hate you. I’m such a proud parent! (And this is the only parenting I’ll ever do, thank you very much!)

Edited @ 1:30 AM to add a picture of my boyfriend’s cat, just to be fair in the household and all. I don’t like to show favoritism; these two hate each other enough as it is.

Now look, I love Phoebe too, but c’mon. She’s really not as cute, now is she? Plus, she’s got the evil eyes thing going on. Creepy stuff. Not cute.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had one of these lazy days… going nowhere, doing nothing, just lying around and being a vegetable for a little bit. (Today seemed to be the right day, what with the late April snow and all.) I’m sure for many people that sounds incredibly boring, but for me it’s blissful. If I could, I’d do this this at least once a week.

Though I have learned something today: Falling asleep on the couch while the boyfriend is watching a History Channel documentary on the Apocalypse will lead to some very interesting and disturbing dreams interrupting a peaceful Sunday afternoon nap. Just something I think I’ll try to remember.

Today was my boyfriend’s birthday. Though I kidded him a bit about being middle age now, it would appear that I was wrong about that; he’s got 5 more years till he hits that landmark. I guess I’ll be nice and share that little bit of info with him at some point, though I will probably let him sweat it out a little longer first. Nothing’s more fun than picking on the people in my life that are older than me, and after spending far too much time with some of the young boys who hang out at the store, I need to be able to do that to keep from feeling ancient.

His birthday means the excitement of opening presents from his mom. We’ve been through two birthdays and two Christmases since we moved here, occasions for which she sends at least two large boxes of goodies. There are always lots of good presents to be found - she’s never stingy with the money (in the form of American Express gift cheques), the clothing is always appreciated, the board games and books are always fun to get. But in every gift package there’s at least one gift that is the kind of thing that makes you go hmm. (Oh dear, I just dated myself with that reference, didn’t I?)

At Christmas, we opened the boxes to find a crib toy. Yes, a child’s crib toy - a bright yellow stuffed moose that has a bell, one squeaky foot and one foot that makes a crinkly paper sort of sound when you squeeze it. To be fair, it is kind of cute, and it has purple antlers (I’m a sucker for nearly anything purple). But a crib toy? I still think she was hinting that she wants grandchildren, even though he assures me it was just one of her strange gifts.

Today’s oddball gift was the first thing he opened, as the unusually long box aroused our curiosity. He sliced through the tape to reveal a set of swords. A three piece set of swords, complete with a bracket for mounting them on the wall. Not like Lord of the Rings replicas or actual antique pieces or anything, just a set of swords meant for decoration (though they are quite sharp). Considering we have exactly 0 decorations hung on the wall in our apartment (we’re not really into decorating much), the chances that these will go up anytime soon are slim to none. And it’s not like the BF collects swords or anything… the set is just a random strange gift.

The truth is, as weird as these things seem to me, it’s actually rather endearing. It also adds a bit of entertainment value to watching him open his presents… what wonders will the next package hold?

The birthday money enabled a cheap but yummy dinner out and a small shopping spree this evening (which was also fun for me as I had a gift card left from Christmas). The BF found a couple of video games he wanted (in addition to World of Warcraft, the game I gave him last night as a birthday gift) and I ended up using my gift card on supplies for our cats. Specifically an extra tall baby gate to divide the apartment and keep them from killing each other and a vinyl protector case for the mattress to save it from the pee baths that my (freak of a) cat likes to give it after being threatened by his cat. (This drama will have to end eventually, right? Oh, to live in harmony with two cats who hate each other.) It was fun just to get out and be a shameless consumer for a bit. Financial stresses make that an unusual occurance these days.

Being the good girlfriend I am, I got up this morning and baked a pineapple upside down cake (his favorite) for him, even though I knew I couldn’t have any, so that was waiting on him when we returned home. It turned out beautiful, and he was quite pleasantly surprised. See, I’ve never baked a cake before, much less one I couldn’t enjoy myself… or at least, one I’m not supposed to enjoy myself. Alas, I am but a weakling - I caved and had a piece anyway. (I fully blame him… he made me taste a bite and then I couldn’t pass it up. Dammit.) But I’m happy to report that it was indeed scrumptious.

Birthday candles don’t work very well on pineapple upside down cake though, so I didn’t really have the occasion to sing “Happy Birthday To You.” Which I suppose is just as well, as I’d have hated to report myself to ASCAP and pay royalties and all.

My observation: Valentine’s Day makes people bitchy, especially men. They all appeared to be sort of pissed about having to shop for cutesy cards and lovey-dovey romantic frou-frou. Even the gay men, many of whom simply loooooove to shop, seemed to be shopping out of some sense of obligation today.

My favorite bitchy guy moment today…

“Wow, you really don’t have many Valentine’s Day cards, do you? You should have more than this.”

That’s because you waited till the ACTUAL day to get the card, bucko. Guess what? Smarter people than you already got all the good ones; we’ve had them out for nearly a month now. You waited till the last minute, so you’re stuck with choosing from what’s left. Suck it up.

For the record, I’ve been with my boyfriend for well over 3 years, and I *still* hate Valentine’s Day. I’m not very good at the whole mushy romantic thing… so it’s a holiday obligation that I’m simply destined to fail. Here’s what we did for Valentine’s Day: We watched American Dad together, thanks to the DVR, while I ate the grilled ham, bacon, & cheese sandwich that he made me for dinner. (Verdict on American Dad: Not as funny as Family Guy, but still better than Super Milk Chan. But I’ve got higher hopes for Robot Chicken… it looks like a live action Twisted Toyfare Theater.)

Then he went to bed, while I finished up some work. Whoo! Bet all you single folks are terribly jealous now… positively green with envy, aren’t you?