Birthday People
I woke up this morning and reflected on how my cup runneth over. Translation -- I didn't pay attention to the water level in the Keurig, and soon I had a puddle of coffee on my kitchen counter.
Today is my birthday, so I thought, how appropriate. Birthdays are such wonderful times to reflect on how lucky we are. I just wish the Holy Spirit wouldn't remind me of Biblical quips like overflowing blessings in such a messy manner.
Pardon the blue tape. I'm in the process of discovering the cruel life lesson that most everything on HGTV is a lie.
Pardon the blue tape. I'm in the process of discovering the cruel life lesson that most everything on HGTV is a lie.
Sometimes I think that there are two kinds of people -- those who love their birthday and those who don't. We all know birthday people. They pick out their birthday dress weeks (maybe even months) in advance, watch their Facebook wall like a stock broker, judge the degree of professionalism in their presents' wrapping job. Birthday people are great. I would much rather attend a birthday person's soiree than my own. In addition that all this, birthday people make it a goal to ensure that their friends' birthday don't pass without some sort of fanfare. The notion of wanting to stay home or do something low-key is almost unthinkable to some of my best girlfriends. A phone conversation with a birthday person might go something like this:
You know it's true.
The "don't" category can be expanded into subcategories of those who hate their birthday, who are neutral about their birthday, or who ignore it altogether. I fall somewhere in this category. I've never been one to get overly excited about the impending celebration. I don't enjoy being the reason people gather together, because then I spend the rest of the night worrying about whether or not everyone is enjoying themselves. With all my neuroses, the one in which I fixation on someone else's good time is by far the worst. I always seem to pick the restaurant with the worst service, or the bar with rap-only music policy, or just any place in general where ghosts of boyfriend's past seem to haunt.
Wedding planning is going to be a nightmare for me. Luckily, an impending marriage only exists on my Pinterest account, so I'm good.
Don't get me wrong; I love being with my girls. My cup certainly runneth over in the friendship category. We're typically the type of girls who garner unusual stares from other restaurant patrons for talking too loudly about our mildly inappropriate inside jokes, the type of girls who badger the DJ into playing Wayne Toups or Garth Brooks, and the type of girls who still text each other pictures of potential outfits for the evening despite living in several different cities. I love my friends because there's something different about them -- a spark, a spirit, a-little-something-extra. They possess all the graces that southern breeding would afford them, but are still able to break away from anything bland. Sometimes I feel that we are Ya-Yas in training. Not all people really understand sisterhood in their lives; I'm glad that I've been immersed in such a thing since I was thirteen.
In other news, I've moved over to a different "box." You know -- the box you check when filling out one of those surveys that refrains from being too age specific. I used to be mid-twenties. Now I'm going to have to check the late-twenties box. So far I've gotten three separate messages expressing that the late twenties box is one worth waiting for, and it's barely 10 am.
"Hey! Just calling to wish you a happy birthday!"
"Thanks! Is there something wrong with your computer?"
"Um, not that I'm aware."
"Oh. Have you been on your computer yet today?"
"Yeah, I'm at work. What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"I just figured something was wrong with it if you were calling me as opposed to posting something on Facebook."
(Awkward pause) "I thought I'd call you instead."
"That's so sweet! When we get off the phone, can you do it then?"
You know it's true.
The "don't" category can be expanded into subcategories of those who hate their birthday, who are neutral about their birthday, or who ignore it altogether. I fall somewhere in this category. I've never been one to get overly excited about the impending celebration. I don't enjoy being the reason people gather together, because then I spend the rest of the night worrying about whether or not everyone is enjoying themselves. With all my neuroses, the one in which I fixation on someone else's good time is by far the worst. I always seem to pick the restaurant with the worst service, or the bar with rap-only music policy, or just any place in general where ghosts of boyfriend's past seem to haunt.
Wedding planning is going to be a nightmare for me. Luckily, an impending marriage only exists on my Pinterest account, so I'm good.
Don't get me wrong; I love being with my girls. My cup certainly runneth over in the friendship category. We're typically the type of girls who garner unusual stares from other restaurant patrons for talking too loudly about our mildly inappropriate inside jokes, the type of girls who badger the DJ into playing Wayne Toups or Garth Brooks, and the type of girls who still text each other pictures of potential outfits for the evening despite living in several different cities. I love my friends because there's something different about them -- a spark, a spirit, a-little-something-extra. They possess all the graces that southern breeding would afford them, but are still able to break away from anything bland. Sometimes I feel that we are Ya-Yas in training. Not all people really understand sisterhood in their lives; I'm glad that I've been immersed in such a thing since I was thirteen.
In other news, I've moved over to a different "box." You know -- the box you check when filling out one of those surveys that refrains from being too age specific. I used to be mid-twenties. Now I'm going to have to check the late-twenties box. So far I've gotten three separate messages expressing that the late twenties box is one worth waiting for, and it's barely 10 am.
posted by Dee @ 8:08 AM
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