1)' TWAS MY BIRFDAY!
Not to sound like a drag, but my birthdays always suck. Even since I was little, my birthday parties have always been lame. My mom usually did a fantastic job of making me unfortunate birthday cakes though (Pocahantas, Barbie, Spice Girls, etc.) and organizing awesome birthday games. So, Mom def. gets brownie points in this department.
However, I was born smack dab in the middle of summer, which means that NOBODY ever came to my birthday. In the back of my mind, the possible reasons for this are: a) I am a huge loser and nobody likes me; b) Nobody cares that I was born; and c) I am a huge loser and nobody likes me. I was always told by Mom though, that, “It’s the middle of summer which means everyone’s out of town, sweetie! People go away to camp. We live in the country, so nobody wants to drive out here.
You are a huge loser and nobody likes you.” To compensate for the lack of birthday attendees, Mom invited the whole family in order to fill up the table. Grandpa, grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. substituted for people my own age. Sigh.
If you still don’t sympathize with me, you will when you hear this: One year, my Mom organized a bobbing for apples game. After I plunged my head in the bucket of water, I silently disappeared and started bawling because only one girl had come to my birthday. Nobody knew – when I re-emerged, people just assumed that my face was still wet from the bobbing for apples game.
I’m still traumatized to this day from my past birthday party experiences. And although I am too old to have a birthday party, I still convince myself that I want to go out for dinner and/or drinks and/or karaoke and/or dancing with my friends. This is probably to make up for birthday parties past, and deep down, to convince myself that I am not a huge loser and that somebody likes me.
Every year, I’m disappointed again.
Last year, it was a combination of “I can’t handle going to dinner AND karaoke,” “It’s past my bedtime,” “I have to work tomorrow,” “I have a headache,” “It’s too crowded in here,” “I’m broke,” and “I have to go home for a quickie.” This year, it was a combination of “I worked all day and I’m tired,” “I have other plans,” “I forgot to check my phone,” “I drank camp water and have the shits,” and “I have no money.”
On top of these lame excuses from friends, I’m always SO preoccupied by making sure that everyone else is having fun, that I’m not having fun myself.
However, this year was a bit better. Some friends came over and volunteered to make us dinner and drinks, which was great. I got mostly alcohol for gifts (yes!) My core group of friends, who never go out drinking or dancing, actually came out! Yet, there were drawbacks. We had to wait in line forever. Loud, slutty, screamey, 19-year old girls, who were grabbing my ass nonstop, kept trying to push in front of me in line. Half of the bar was closed down, and it was not very busy. We then proceeded to go to a different place for karaoke, and even though it was my birthday, I didn’t have the opportunity to sing. The DJ played a bunch of lame dance tracks while I could have been serenading everyone with Justin Bieber’s “One Time.” Tragic, I tell you.
I guess I can’t have everything. But part of me is now convinced that yes, I’m a loser, but a couple of people like me at least.
2) I Have a Fake Nephew!!
By fake, I mean my fake Mom -- whose Baby Shower I blogged about not too long ago -- finally popped! Although I hate children in all forms (which truly does indicate that I should not have gone to teacher’s college), I’m pretty excited to have a baby as a part of my life. I’m going to be the coolest fake aunt/sister/whatever, ever!
And get this: She is totally turning her baby into a mini Harry Potter. That’s right. My fake Mom’s husband (whom I will never call my 'fake Dad,' because that's weird) is legit British. He has an accent. This baby is named Daniel, after Daniel Radcliffe, although my fake Mom claims that she’s “always liked the name ‘Daniel.’” Bullshit. This baby also has 3 EPIC MIDDLE NAMES, just like Albus Dumbledore has 3 epic middle names (Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, if you didn’t know).
Although we live in North America and the child will be completely immersed in an almost British accent-less society, I am praying that this baby will speak only in a British accent. It could happen, right?
3) JUSTIN BIEBER Was in my Small, Crappy City!
It still doesn’t really make any sense.
When I came home one day last week, my roommate exclaimed, “Guess what?!? A guy that I know, who works at the airport, said that Justin Bieber was there today!?!” Just to let you know, our airport is the size of my apartment.
Why the hell would the Biebs come here?!? I wondered. I still wasn’t completely convinced that he was actually here, so I creeped him on Twitter. That’s right. And guess what, he WAS here! One of his tweets said something along the lines of, “I’m in a place that’s literally in the middle of nowhere.” He then posted some pictures of the area (and by pictures I mean, “trees, rocks, & highway,” because that’s pretty much our landscape), and then tweeted, “Come find me.”
Um, come find you?!? Yes please!
|"You did what?!?"|
Unfortunately, it appeared as though he was camping in the middle of a forest. And we have a lot of forest. I knew my efforts could be better put to use if I correctly communicated to the Biebs that I knew where is was. So, folks, I created a Twitter account just do I could message Justin Bieber. Don’t make fun; the Biebs’ presence in my small, crappy city is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
My tweet to him didn’t work out so well. I sounded creepily stalker-ish by letting him know that I knew where he was. I sounded even more creepily stalker-ish by also exclaiming in my tweet that, “I created an account just to reply to this [his tweet]!” Ugh.
The funny thing about all this (besides the fact that the Biebs didn’t tweet me back…Bastard!) is that hundreds of 14-year-old girls were commenting on the pics that the Biebs posted of my crappy city. These girls were saying things like, “Ohhh, are you in Australia?” “It’s so pretty there – it looks like heaven!” and “I want to live there!!!! LuV u JuStIn BiEbEr 4ever follow me xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo.” Sorry ladies – I can guarantee that you don’t want to live here, and that it is definitely not heaven. But, our ground was blessed with the presence of the Biebs’ sneakers. So y'all do have a valid point.
No, I’m not a 14-year-old girl.