Alas, this is not a post about Aunt Florence's recent escapades - you'll have to wait until the next post for that I'm afraid.
I'm just here to wish myself a happy birthday now that I'm so very, very old. I kid of course, 30 is totally the new 12. I'm not bothered by this landmark birthday at all, as all of the cool kids are in their 30s, 40s and 50s. The Dude, who is six years older than me, is a bit disappointed that he is no longer married to a broad in her 20s and instead is stuck with an old hag now in her 30s. I'm to ignore the fact that I'm married to a guy peering down the barrel at 40 though. Cheers darling.
Presents. My kid sang "Happy Birthday" to me today, finally dropping the "happy birthday dear P" part that she's been clinging to for weeks in favour of "happy birthday dear mummy". I'm honoured that of the 8000 times this song has been sung recently, she has at last determined that her birthday has passed and it's my turn. By the time The Dude turns 36 in a few weeks she might be able to make it topical!
The Dude appealed to my immense nerddom and bought me a book entitled, "Ghost Towns of Pennsylvania", which I am not ashamed to admit I had paged through earlier in the week. More presents are to come apparently, though given the loss of the credit card and the limited dollar cash supply, this may be limited to a free grilled cheese sandwich or gratuitous boob fondling.
My brother got me the new David Sedaris and Seasons 1 and 2 of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" on DVD. My Mom, crafty minx that she is, managed to creep over to the gallery next door and buy a series of small paintings I have been coveting. Not that anyone is particularly bothered, but pictures will follow when I can be arsed to upload some photos. I'm annoyed, as my Mom's cash flow is about as limited as mine currently, so now I have a heavy dose of guilt to go with my beautiful new pieces.
Here's where I get unpopular - I'm a bit frustrated with some other relatives because my own birthday passed with little recognition in favour of P's. I know it's so dreadfully selfish of me, but seriously, just because I have a child now doesn't mean I cease to exist. A card would be nice you know. I understand you gave P a card and presents and/or money, but I'm fucking 30 - recognise! I have never understood when people say things like, "Don't worry about me - just get a gift for the kid!" Uh, no. It's not that I'm spoiled, we compromise enough as parents. Now we have to give up our birthdays too?
So, for all of my family that could care less that as of 8.09pm I am officially a 30-something, I've sent myself a card.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must go have a birthday shower. I just got off the phone with Molly and the sexy Minnesotan twang paired with the throaty huskiness of her voice have made me all hot and bothered.