You say it's your birthday...
...it's my birthday, too, yo.
Just one year later than my last inspiring birthday post, we have this. I'm 35 today. Whoopty-fucking-doo.
Liv is really into it. She painted a bunch of wooden letters to spell our last name for me to put in our hallway, and she made a treasure hunt of birthday surprises this morning, even giving my cutout letters as clues where to look. Damn cute.
But, I'm not planning much of anything. At this point, my plan is dinner and miniature golf with my girls, then cocktails later somewhere within stumbling distance of home. Oh, and Liv and I are going to a birthday party for one of her preschool friends (it's also my favorite of Tricia's cousins birthday and another friend wedding anniversary).
I'm just worn out. We had people over two nights in a row this week, which is rare and involved cleaning and cooking above the usual levels, which would be fine except I've been running well below usual levels as I transition into the new job.
And that has been crazy, too. Not only was I hired about three weeks later than I ideally should have been, which has me scrambling to catch up, but my lovely new boss lasted one day with me before she ended up in the emergency room with symptoms that point more clearly to lymphoma (which her sister is currently dying of) every day. She's out for at least weeks, maybe more. And she's really a nice lady, and deserves to be in your prayers, or thoughts, or chanting, or what have you.
It is the constant change of pace that is taking some getting used to. A usual work day is a couple hours of cramming in housework and Liv quality time, followed by a half-dozen hours at the theatre trying to learn everything and contact everybody at once, followed by at least another hour or two of housework when I get home.
I know, boo-fucking-hoo. I actually really do like my new job. And Liv and I and one of her preschool friends enjoyed the first perk yesterday with comps to The Green Sheep.
Just too whipped to party much. Which I suppose I should bee getting used to. I'm not getting any younger. My liver is already 73, and my lungs around 80.
Oh, and on that note, probably a good place to leave off - my gifts to myself today are a bottle of whiskey and a couple big boxes of Nicorettes. I made it six weeks before falling apart in early May, and it is time too get it done. With any luck, it'll be my liver that is over 80 and my lungs that are in their spry early-70s by this time next year.
Anyway, happy birthday to me. And Robert DeNiro and Mae West. And Liv's friend Nathan and Tricia's cousin Miranda. And happy anniversary Joe & Steph.
Just one year later than my last inspiring birthday post, we have this. I'm 35 today. Whoopty-fucking-doo.
Liv is really into it. She painted a bunch of wooden letters to spell our last name for me to put in our hallway, and she made a treasure hunt of birthday surprises this morning, even giving my cutout letters as clues where to look. Damn cute.
But, I'm not planning much of anything. At this point, my plan is dinner and miniature golf with my girls, then cocktails later somewhere within stumbling distance of home. Oh, and Liv and I are going to a birthday party for one of her preschool friends (it's also my favorite of Tricia's cousins birthday and another friend wedding anniversary).
I'm just worn out. We had people over two nights in a row this week, which is rare and involved cleaning and cooking above the usual levels, which would be fine except I've been running well below usual levels as I transition into the new job.
And that has been crazy, too. Not only was I hired about three weeks later than I ideally should have been, which has me scrambling to catch up, but my lovely new boss lasted one day with me before she ended up in the emergency room with symptoms that point more clearly to lymphoma (which her sister is currently dying of) every day. She's out for at least weeks, maybe more. And she's really a nice lady, and deserves to be in your prayers, or thoughts, or chanting, or what have you.
It is the constant change of pace that is taking some getting used to. A usual work day is a couple hours of cramming in housework and Liv quality time, followed by a half-dozen hours at the theatre trying to learn everything and contact everybody at once, followed by at least another hour or two of housework when I get home.
I know, boo-fucking-hoo. I actually really do like my new job. And Liv and I and one of her preschool friends enjoyed the first perk yesterday with comps to The Green Sheep.
Just too whipped to party much. Which I suppose I should bee getting used to. I'm not getting any younger. My liver is already 73, and my lungs around 80.
Oh, and on that note, probably a good place to leave off - my gifts to myself today are a bottle of whiskey and a couple big boxes of Nicorettes. I made it six weeks before falling apart in early May, and it is time too get it done. With any luck, it'll be my liver that is over 80 and my lungs that are in their spry early-70s by this time next year.
Anyway, happy birthday to me. And Robert DeNiro and Mae West. And Liv's friend Nathan and Tricia's cousin Miranda. And happy anniversary Joe & Steph.
posted by JJisafool at 7:50 AM
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