What happened for My Birthday: The Inside Scoop

So I had to go back and read what I wrote about the whole forty business.  The blog entry was entirely true.  I did downplay how freaked out I was about my husband inviting family to my house.  I about had a clutch of chickens, but didn't due to hyperventilation.

 

What I'm getting at was the whole nefarious sentence followed by the Ah-cha-cha.  Well, there were no dollar bills involved.  I found out Blue October was playing in Charlotte and decided that was where I was going.  Alone.  My husband heaved a sigh of relief for a couple of reasons.  One, he didn't have to go to a topless bar with me.  Two, he has no idea who Blue October is and the one song he knows makes him gag.

 

So he programs the Garmin.  I print maps.  He draws maps.  I freak out that people might know I am forty.  I actually wondered:  'hummm be married?'  What?  Of course you are. 

 

First incident:  I stopped to pee at a rest area.  In club clothes.  *sigh*  I did some glaring.  Then called my husband and he said I didn't use his map.  I began to curse and said I listened to the #*)(#%&#*()) GARMIN.  Anyway, the outdated Garmin didn't take me all the way to the Filmore.  Praise God I pulled in to ask for directions right next to the place.  SHUT UP.  I did it.

 

Parked the car.  Walked inside.  While adjusting to lights, got a lecture on which side of the blue tape to stand on.  WTF?  OK.  Dude.  I just got here.  *sob*

 

It used to be that people with tattoos and piercings were going to hell.  Nope.  Now its people that smoke.  I had to go find that place and called husband and I freaked out about being so damned short and afraid of being stepped on.  He told me maybe I should go try and upgrade my ticket.  I practically hung up on him to find someone in a staff shirt my age.  Guess what VIP means?  It means one can sit the hell down.  It also means the floor in the bathroom is matte and you don't have to think you are standing in human fluids.  The toilets are still black, but I didn't have to hike my outfit two directions.  And with a one piece outfit that nothing but you fits inside of, that part was a relief.

 

WOW.  BLUE OCTOBER was amazing.  They came out and blew the crowd away with Sway.  I was in heaven.  Self satisfied, I did it, fuck you forty heaven.

 

After a few drinks I wandered because damn the people these days suck.  Talk to them and they act like you have some disease.  Except this awesome guy named Adam.  I told him I loved his Doc Martins and he spun on his heel and said I was cool people because I knew what they were.  When I told him emphatically they were Bangarang, he said he loved me.  A chick that knows Skillerex.  At that moment, I loved him too.  He was hot stuff.  We sat in my car and dried out together after the concert.

 

The funniest part of the Adam incident was telling him I have to pee.  We pulled over to the weeds and I threatened his life if he looked.  He didn't.  I had the best time with this guy.  I drove him to his car, which was a million miles away and drove home.

 

So I stopped at the other rest stop.  Dear God.  Some weenie asked to see my tattoo.  I said no with a world peace smile and locked my doors.  This is where I envy men.  They can piss in a bottle.

 

So following the Garmin again, I ended up at a friend's house to finish drying up and come to the sad part of I really am 40.

Boredom versus Having a Life: I wish for the Grey Area

Things that may cause the world to shift magnetic poles seem to crop up around my universe and its clogging my Feng Shui.  I thought I really needed to get a life when the fact of the matter is I have an extensive one with all the options.  I find myself wishing for a daily set that includes less.  Call it downsizing if you will. 

 

No longer shall I wish to pull vocal cords out of the people that exclaim how happy they are to see me out and about.  Too messy.  Let them think I'm a loser hermit.  Then they won't ask for anything all the while saying they are the type of person that doesn't.

 

Next, rebellion.  I pass on that.  Rebellion is for those wishing to fuck everything they know up.  I am not that type.  Shake things up.  Sure.  Rebel.  After thinking it through and giving it a test run, forget it.  Rebellion happens to belong to the mind set of do first and think later.  Never works for me.  I'm going to add rebellion to the list of things that happen to other people.

 

More Grey stuff.  So I had some new sign ins for my cave.  I then labeled my Grey Goose bottle:  Dear Maverick (me), You did not kill this goose.  Stop sharing.  Then on another bottle I put in white out:  Dear Bitches (not me), Don't ask where the other bottle is, the answer is NO.  For emphasis I wrote a HUGE 'NO' on the neck of the bottle in white out.  This would be the Captain Morgan.  Top shelf bottle location will not be revealed in this blog.  No is no is NO.

 

I had to do all that note writing because my flask system failed on me.  They drink all that too.  I'll quote one of my lush friends with her own words:  "Mr. Snake, would you babysit my pet rat for me?"  The thing is when the snakes have been in your cave, they know you have bottles somewhere.  Dammit.  Thus we've moved bottles and left kind words on others.

 

Then there is a new sentence I believe I am beginning to dislike.  Formerly I thought it was kind of cool.  After hearing it frequently, nope, it sucks.  Ready for it?  It's a shame you are married.  Another version:  I wish you weren't married.  Be thrilled right?  Wrong.  If you happen to be hanging out this line is fishing for whether or not I'm some cheating skank.  That's in extreme cases.  It can also be the opening statement for finding out if my life sucks so bad I'm willing to their entire life story since I don't have one.  Blah.  Now don't sit there and think I'm some kind of Grinch.  Not every person that says this makes my hackles rise or makes me throw up in my own mouth.  There are very few though.  OK, yeah, if a woman said this to me, I'd probably piss myself with laughter.

 

So then there's women.  I have two girlfriends.  And that is a shaky number.  The rest pretty much hate me.  I'm working on a synopsis as to why I believe I should use the word hate emphatically.  But its hate.  If this were the Matrix and I were Neo, I would want the DAMNED blue pill.  I want to wake up in my bed and believe whatever I want to believe.  But no.  Somewhere along the line I ate that red one.  Therefore, I know its hate.

 

Expanding.  So some people I haven't spoken to in ages send me facebook messages trying to sell the fact they don't talk to my starter husband.  First rule of thumb, if you swear something to me, I believe its a lie.  This person checks in from time to time to see if my life sucks enough to be destitute, which means he can check me off his bucket list.  One of these days when I'm mad enough I'll ask him if my theory on this is true.  He asked why I unfriended him.  I want to write back and ask if he wants the truth or a good lie.  I've hung out with him, he ate the blue pill, or he wouldn't ask.

 

More on Facebook.  A family member I don't speak to asked me to call because he had a question.  Then the next day a cousin leaves me a voicemail.  I hear Twilight Zone music in my head and wonder what nefarious plot is being hatched to fuck up the fact I am seeing my parents and sisters.

 

Holy shit right?  My parents?  I know.  They built a deck on their house and I didn't know it until about a month ago.  I'll be damned if a few cousins and an Uncle are screwing this up for me.  I called the Uncle anyway.  He wanted my help to get his GED.  I cried.  It's true. 

 

However, I'm not calling the cousin.  After the couple of sideways posts on my page that even my husband caught and laughed about, I refuse.  Sideways means:  I have an Aunt that sees me and says wow, I'm not as fat as I was last time she saw me.  I have another family member to comment on my hair.. and now I have a cousin concerned about my tired eyes.  All this is meant to be complimentary.  Complimentary bullshit that came with the side pack o' lies I endured because I love my mother.  I DON'T THINK SO. 

 

Well fingers hurt, and there is so much more to talk about.  I guess I'd better start posting again.   

My Birthday

I don't feel any different than the day before, yet here I am, forty.  My husband convinced my sisters to come visit and after the initial shock, it turned out to be a good thing.  I was able to enjoy listening to my nephews feet hit the pecan tree branches and my niece giggle.

 

My daughter pulled out her banjo and sang Happy Birthday in front of my entire party.  It was amazing.  I was very proud.

 

The actual day, I went to a massage therapist and had lymphatic massage and it was wonderful.  It left me feeling drained from all the energy.

 

All in all, a good birthday.

 

Not to mention, a few days earlier, my daughter helped me find my missing rings.  I'm a lucky person.

 

The fun isn't over though.  This weekend my husband and I are out for more nefarious adventures in turning 40.  I told him to bring lots of dollar bills.  It's going to be fun.

 

Ahh-Cha-Cha!

Count Down to Forty

In few short days, I will turn forty.  It's hard to realize I'm that age.  I don't look it, don't feel it, but nevertheless, here it comes.

 

I've decided a few things about forty.  First off, any person that begins with 'Lordy-Lordy' shall be cut off in mid-sentence with verbally or physically.  It raises my hackles.  Come up with something new people.  My inner self says the people that will try will be those who learned the hard way that I don't like 'Marsha-Marsha' either.

 

There's a lot of take about cougars.  What?  I think I'll be a puma instead.

 

My husband says maturity began for him at forty.  That means I have a few short days to grow up?  I think he's full of crap.  I refuse to lose my sense of wonder that being a mature adult seems to suck out of a person.

 

I have deemed forty to be a good year.  And so it shall be.  Mature or not.

Alright, this is not mature.  Do I want to go to a comedy club for my birthday?

No.  I want to go to a topless bar with a goody bag.  Because I'm growing up afterwards.  Anybody suggest such a nefarious birthday?  No.

YES.  Now I shall bitch and moan and tear out my hair, beat my chest and wonder if the people around me actually paid attention to the whole lifestyle change talk.

I'm doing it for myself, yes.  But encouragement and going out in style would be nice.

Blowing a Fuse and Not Waking Backup: Really

Lucky #20.  The magical breaker supplying power to the outlets in my cave.  It took much patience not to throw my battery backup across the room to make it shut up while I shut down two computers, and my music equipment shaking from the sound of blowing a light bulb combined with the unmistakable smell of electrical discharge.  I almost feel sorry for the camel cricket that jumped across my slippers as I groped with my cell phone as a flashlight in a corner of my basement.  I said almost... I screamed.. but didn't drop the phone.  Cricket just had to jump back within two feet of me.  I am sure parts of that bug are between the fibers of my sock I jumped so hard.