I went to the grocery store today because, among other things, I was out of toilet paper. I brought my purchases home, put everything away, then went to the bathroom to put the toilet paper away.
As I pulled a roll out of the package to place on the dispenser, I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to pee, when I didn’t before.
Well, my first post of 2009 was about peeing. Should be a hell of a year here at the old blog! :p
While I am an adult in many ways (I pay my bills, live alone, am responsible for the health and well-being of a cat), there’s one thing that is still somewhat childlike about me, in that I still get very excited for my birthday to arrive.
As of this post, it’s one month and two days until my 35th birthday (Oct. 4 – the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi for all you Catholics out there, as well as the birthday of the now-banished-from-my-bookcase Anne Rice). I never like to plan anything because I usually end up disappointed when no one shows, yet I always naively try to. So I think this year (especially since I’m not thrilled about the prospect of turning 35) I’m going to lay low and see if my friends/loved ones/others plan anything. If they don’t, no biggie. If they do, yay. It would be nice to do something, though, because my birthday falls on a Saturday this year, which it hasn’t since my 30th, I don’t think. And my 30th birthday sucked (if you want to know why, comment and I will tell you), so it would be nice to break a bad streak. :p
I think the best birthday was my 20th (or was it 19th?). My friend Roy and I were roommates at the time, and he threw me a surprise party. We went to Appleton, Wis. to the mall for the day (when you go to school in Stevens Point, Wis., going to Appleton is somewhat like going to Chicago for those of us who live in Milwaukee), then to a play on campus. We were driving back to our apartment, and as he was going to turn onto our street he swerved and kept going down the road we were currently on. I thought he had lost his mind. Turned out that some friends who were coming were walking up to the house, and the surprise would have been blown.
We finally got to the apartment, and I walked in first. The whole place had been trashed, like someone had broken in. I was freaking out, and walked into the living room to see if anything had been taken, and there our friends were, yelling surprise. It was pretty cool. Although I’m incredibly gullible, so it’s pretty easy to pull the wool over my eyes.
Thus concludes my boring post for the day.
I’m a big believer in jinxing. I realize how silly that sounds coming from an almost-35-year-old, but it’s true. Throughout my life I’ve found (especially where men and money are concerned) that if I tell too many people about a potentially good thing, that good thing either goes away or never comes to fruition.
The irony is that I love to share good things with my friends, because those good things come alone so infrequently. Which makes me wonder: Am I intentionally jinxing myself because I don’t want to step out of my comfort zone and change my life for the better?
I’m feeling lonely for some reason. It occurred to me that I felt the same way the last time I moved two years ago. I’m not sure why this would be the case. Being an only child, I’m rarely lonely, and have no problem entertaining myself. For some reason, moving to a new place makes me want people around me.
Myrna stopped by earlier and helped me move a box upstairs (thanks!). I’ve trolled through my whole phonebook on my cell and no one is around. And technically I’m not alone: Ginger the cat is cleaning her back paws underneath the desk as I write this. But for some reason I really want to have someone here with me.
Knowing me, I’d want them to go away as soon as they got here, but still…
One of my favorite work-week lunch haunts is Potbelly. The turkey and swiss sandwiches, chocolate malts and chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies are great, and I can always get through the line quickly (which frees up more book-reading time until my phone alarm goes off, sending me back to work for the remainder of the day).
In the location I visit (and I assume it’s similar everywhere else), there’s a small one-person-sized stage in the corner of the restaurant, and most days there can be found a lone guitarist (not always the same person) playing/singing covers to the “audience.” I put that word in quotes because Potbelly at lunchtime strikes me as a strange place for a hopeful singer to get some exposure.
This poor guy (or gal, but usually a guy) is playing his heart out, and drowning him out is the sound of people talking, laughing and eating. It seems like people rarely listen to the music being played — no one applauds, very few people even acknowledge there is someone sitting on that little stage, and anyone who has visited a Potbelly knows that acoustics are not its strong suit. I guess a part of me feels a little sorry for the singer, though I am just as guilty as anyone else of not paying attention — if I’m not reading (which is at least a quiet pastime) I’m sitting and talking with a co-worker.
I have this weird empathy button in me, where oftentimes I feel so incredibly sorry for the plight someone or something is enduring, that it literally hurts me or upsets me. While this isn’t something that upsets me or drives me to tears, it’s certainly something that enters my mind from time to time.
Just another weird quirk about me, I guess.
Ring Out the Old, Ring in the New... 