Pollyanna Says “I Hear It’s My Birthday!” (nananana na na!)

Anna-Liza here, back from the potty-training jungle.

We’re not done yet, we’re still bribing rewarding Mr. B with cheap plastic toys to do his thing, but he’s been in big boy pants (with plastic pants over) to sleep in for two nights in a row now with no accidents. Yay!

So, on to the topic for today–it’s my birthday! And I’m 45!! No escaping the fact that by any reasonable measure, I’m middle-aged. I may live more than 45 more years–genetics argue that I have a decent chance–but really, not a whole lot more.

So I was thinking over my life so far, and thinking “Have I really lived my life to the fullest?” and “Has what I’ve done with this last year been worthwhile?” and … I can honestly say that, while I have the usual lapses into whining and allowing myself to be bored, on the whole I can say “yes” to both those questions. Maybe I haven’t solved the problem of world peace, but I’m pretty sure that, when I leave this world (45, 50 years in the future), it will be a better place for my having been here.

Unless, of course, I suddenly turn into Hitler or Phyllis Schlafly or Ann Coulter or someone like that. If I do, slap me good. If that doesn’t work, shoot me. (You think I’m kidding, don’t you?)

Oh, a digression, I was making snide comments about the Coulter creature one day and said something like “… and she seems to think she’s hot, but she’s so scrawny-ugly” and my (male) buddy said, “Oh, I don’t know, she could be pretty hot. Say, if she had a ball gag in her mouth and I had a paddle in my hand … ” So guess what image I have in my head whenever the C-creature (I can’t call her a “woman”) gets in the news again? It’s quite entertaining.

So the birthday celebrations are going to have to be delayed, due to many conflicting schedules. So for today, the celebration is that I’m going to Stitch Therapy at Posh; if I remember, I’ll bring something sweet and maybe some wine. Tomorrow, my coworkers and I will do an after-work drinkup at a nearby bar & restaurant, and my in-laws are taking the kidlets camping until Sunday afternoon, so I have Darlin’ K, and the house, all to myself all weekend.

I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.

And we’ll do a “do” up at the cabin in a couple of weeks, just a get-together potluck thingie, since we hardly ever get to see our friends these days, and most of them seem to be out of town right now.

Oh, and I’ve asked for Monday off. (One of the cool things about this job is that my company gives us a day off for our birthday, to be taken within two weeks of the birthday itself). The Knitting Sprite has Mondays off, so I’m hoping we can get together, ideally with Number One Son, and do something fun together. Don’t know what, just yet.

Not quite Marin’s “40 days and 40 nights” celebration, but it’ll do.

I have to say, I woke up with a bit of an attitude. Not a depressed “oh my god I’m another year older” attitude, more like a “I am Woman, Don’t Fuck With ME” attitude. When I got to work, I found an especially sweet “happy birthday” email from Darlin’ K, who sent it at an ungodly hour this morning so I would see it when I got here, and that mellowed me somewhat.

Yarn Harlot’s post about the fuckhead judge in Nebraska who has decided that a rape victim can’t call it “rape” perked up the attitude some more.

And then I read Laurie’s sweet, wistful eulogy for the beautiful and dignified Roy, and I leaked tears all over my desk and filled my wastebasket up with nose tissue. I can’t believe I’m crying over a cat I never met, companion to a woman I’ve met once, but it feels like one of my own just died.

And then, in this odd rollercoaster kind of a day, one of my coworkers gave me a nice card, a bar of dark chocolate, and Groucho glasses for my birthday. I said I couldn’t wear them long (the glasses) because the moustache is tickly. Another coworker put them on and I said, “Doesn’t that moustache tickle?” and he flicked his tongue in and out trying to feel where the moustache was … and I started laughing, he looked so darn silly. I can’t ever wear them again, but he did make me laugh.

(sigh) Okay, this is a wandering sort of a post, and it doesn’t really have a point except to get a lot of comments saying “Happy Birthday”. Because, even though I’m all grown up and even though I was the one who decided to postpone a party, it still feels kind of weird to not be really doing much on the actual day. Whine. But I still have knitting to look forward to, and Sylvia’s holding a skein of Tofootsies for me, and I finally have had enought time all in one bunch to put together a post!

So, hey ya’ll, happy birthday to me!

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9 thoughts on “Pollyanna Says “I Hear It’s My Birthday!” (nananana na na!)

  1. Marin

    Besides, 45 days and 45 nights may kill you. The 40 nearly killed me.

    So Happy Birthday, fellow 40-something. I wish you many more years of fibrous goodness (just in case, though, fill out your Stash Donor card).

    XOXO

    Reply
  2. lyda

    She’s BAAACCKKK!! And I love you and Happy B-day to you!! I’d bake you a goey cake (because we all know that birthday cake has no calories – no, it doesn’t!) but I suspect the boys would eat it before I could send it to you.

    I’d offer to knit you something for your b-day (to be amazingly late of course) but it would be like sending coal to Newcastle.
    [Actually, I have a plan but it was delayed by the Great Cash Crisis so it will arrive late; everyone pretend to know nothing, okay?!]

    And I emailed both my senators about that stupid judge.

    Standing by to slap if needed. You know I will.

    “I’m sure we’ll think of something to do” indeed. Snort.

    Reply
  3. Imbrium

    I suppose I can crawl out of lurkerdom to wish you a happy birthday. 🙂

    (In case you’re wondering who I am and where I came from, I met you at Tattered Cover, waiting in line for Harlot. Hello again!)

    Reply
  4. Cathy-Cate

    Happy Birthday, you shameless comment-solicitor!
    : )
    Sounds like a whirlwind of activity even if not all Birthday with a capital B; and sounds like the festivities will just keep on going. I’m right behind you on the 40s thing; I turn 44 this year, and I have trouble remembering I’m 43. Yeah, kind of like the Harlot, but maybe not quite so much creative arithmetic.

    Reply
  5. Anna-Liza

    Thanks, Imbrium and Cathy-Cate! I was soliciting, I know, but what I was hoping was to bring out a few lurkers–and lookee here! Thanks again.

    Reply

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