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I May Live Under a Rock, But at Least I Didn’t Trip Over It

One of my good friends sent me an e-card this weekend for my birthday.  It included this message:

Screen Shot 2013-10-08 at 9.51.48 PM

I am well-known in my set for my clumsiness.  So, I assumed this was another way of saying,  “hope you don’t break your neck after somehow surviving your own ineptitude for 45 years.”

It wasn’t until, 24-hours later, my daughter and I were in the car listening to NPR, and I realized that there was another kind of gravity I was supposed to enjoy.

And it involves George Clooney.  (and Sandra Bullock)

Now, that’s my kind of gravity.

Don’t worry, George!  I won’t let go!



I’m Sorry Google Dissed You, Bill Fagerbakke

It’s been a crazy week.  Which is probably good because the craziness took my mind off my birthday for the most part.  And I know I’m supposed to be glad I managed to live another year.  But I would be gladder if it had been my 29th year of living instead of my 40-something-ish.  And if forty-something wasn’t so close to 50.  And if I could read the small print on my 50 different medication bottles.

I usually keep my birthday kind of on the DL, but I got foiled by Google this year.

I logged in to Google at work, and saw a lovely Google birthday logo.

“Wow!  Susan Sarandon is so famous, even Google is wishing her a happy birthday!  Or, maybe, this special design is for Bill Fagerbakke, the voice of Spongebob Squarepants, who also happens to share this special day with me.  Oh, silly me, it’s probably in honor of Jon Secada, famous singer of ‘Just Another Day’ that reached #5 on the pop charts in the US in 1992.”

I rolled over the logo to see if there would be an informative pop-up revealing the celebrity’s name.

And almost fell out of my chair when Google wished me, personally, a Happy Birthday.

My work set up our Google accounts.  Apparently they don’t subscribe to my “give a fake birthday for all your online accounts” philosophy.

Of course, this just means that I am going to receive Birthday Wishes about 6 times a year now, since I have 5 other Google accounts that are not work-related.  And I kind of fudged a bit on those birthdays.

I sure hope Jon Secada checked out his logo last Friday.  Nothing beats the special feeling you get when you find out that Google gives you a message that says, “Good job on not dying yet and, by the way, we know everything about you.

It sure does make that day special.


Who Needs FB?

A couple of months ago, I casually mentioned to my sister, Crash, that my husband’s 40th birthday had come and gone.

“What?!!!!” she said.  “I didn’t know that!  Tell him I’ve got a card, but it’s gonna be late.”

“O.K.”  This has been a major concern of my husband’s for weeks, I am certain, that my sister did not remember his birthday.

“If you’re not on Facebook, I can’t be expected to remember your birthday,” she chided.

“Hmm.  That’s good to know,” I replied.  Yet another discriminatory remark against those of us not part of the FB cult.

Anyway, this is a long way of saying that I don’t rely on Facebook to remind me of people’s birthdays.  Which is good because I don’t use Facebook.

However, a little bird told me that our blog pal, The Hobbler, is celebrating her special day today.

So, I would like to say a big ole “HAPPY HOBBLING BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HOBBLER!!!!!”

You might actually be someone other than The Hobbler, and are probably wondering by now why you are even reading this post.  I will direct you now to one of The Hobbler’s Top Tens, and you can thank me later.  Just don’t forget.  You know – to come back and thank me.

Now, Who’s the Control Freak?

Anyone who has ever met my husband, Cap’n Firepants, will probably agree with me that “spontaneous” would not be included in his list of character traits.  Unless you were to say, “He is a man who might spontaneously combust if you throw him into unpredictable situations.”  Therefore, on the Cap’n’s 40th birthday a couple of weeks ago, I felt that I was doing him a favor by at least giving him a card with the directions to not plan anything for the last weekend in March.  I felt like two weeks would be ample time for him to prepare for an “unplanned” adventure.  In retrospect, it does not seem very logical, I suppose, to tell a man whose father had a heart attack on his 40th birthday that I am going to take him to an unknown place using an unknown method of transportation to participate in unknown activities at an approximate date and time.

I finally revealed where were going the day before the trip.  Cap’n Firepants seemed happy to be leaving town, and that we would be using the automobile as our sole method of transportation.  I probably could have told him that we were heading to a shack in Death Valley, and he would have been fine as long as we didn’t have to fly.

As usual, several factors conspired to make us leave later than planned.  Which added to my stress level because I had another surprise waiting for him in Fredericksburg – our destination point.  But, we finally left town, and I allowed him to choose our route as long as he promised not to offend my virgin ears with streams of obscenities if we ran into any traffic.  Which we did.  And he didn’t.

We arrived in Fredericksburg, and I immediately rushed the Cap’n to drop off our bags at the hotel and walk to Main Street, declaring that we had reservations at a local restaurant, the Fredericksburg Brewing Company, for dinner.

We did not have reservations.  As a matter of fact, Fredericksburg Brewing Company does not even accept reservations.  And that could have ruined the next surprise.

Entering the restaurant, my moment of truth swiftly greeted me.  If something didn’t happen before the hostess swooped on us, I was going to have to admit that we had no reservation, and the Cap’n was going to think receive further confirmation that I am a lunatic for rushing him for no reason.  Or, I could start yelling at the hostess, claiming that someone on the phone had taken my reservation, and demanding to be seated at once.  Thereby making it Cap’n Firepants’ worse birthday gift ever because he is absolutely mortified by any public confrontations.  The last time I asked the waiter to bring a straw that he had promised, the Cap’n turned beet red at my gall.

But then the Cap’n saw them.  Our cousins, the Globetrotters, seated casually at one of the tables, waving.  They had driven down from Houston to help him to celebrate his heart attack special birthday.

Surrounded by family – and the immense beer stills of the brewery – the Cap’n was finally able to relax.  Of course, that’s only because he didn’t know that I had a couple of other surprises up my sleeve…

photo credit: The Fresh Dish

Who Stopped the Presses?

Well, I am glad that I have a bunch of optimistic readers, and no one panicked upon reading my “Emergency” post.  As most of you surmised, I was actually having fun helping my husband, the Cap’n, to celebrate his 40th birthday – and I am not dead.  I apologize for taking so long to respond to comments, but I will try to catch up as soon as I can.  I am now in the middle of doing every chore that I procrastinated in honor of Cap’n Firepants, so I will have to postpone my tales from the weekend, and offer you a couple of pics of a dog we encountered during our Birthday Adventure.  The next time I don’t get paperwork turned in on time, I am using this little guy as my excuse.

"I haven't seen this kind of piddle pad before."

"Whoever is holding up the printer, move out of the way! Can't you hear them yelling at you?... Huh? Who, me?"

Happy Birthday, Crash!

Today is my dear sister’s birthday.  She is probably hoping, as she does every year for the last decade, that I will be surprising her in North Carolina.  Unfortunately, I can’t do that again until she stops expecting it.  Do you hear that, Crash?!!!!  Anyway, I just want to say Happy Birthday to my crazy sis.  Sorry I can’t be there.  But here is the next best thing.

Crash is the cute one on the left. I am the one holding the, uh, what the heck is that thing, anyway?

October’s Dead Rubber Post by the B even O’er F

Well, as I established in my first Dead Rubber (slang for “boring”) post, I intend to monthly allow myself one post that has very little point and reflects even less thought than usual.  It seems so soon since my first Dead Rubber post, but it has been a month, and I am ready to cut myself some slack.

BOF means Boring Old Fart.  Which leads me to the topic of today’s post – my birthday.  Which is next week.  Yay me.

Believe it or not, I am actually looking forward to it this year.  I don’t remember feeling this excited about a birthday since I was dating Cap’n Firepants and obsessing over getting an engagement ring every time there was a gift-giving occasion.  You know you’ve got it bad when you wake up on Groundhog Day wondering if your sweetheart will find a way to eke some romance out of Puxatawney Phil seeing his shadow.

Last year, I really didn’t care about my birthday.  It was on a week day. I had a million things to do at school and places to chauffeur Dimples after work, so there was nothing special about the day as far as I was concerned.  I did not loathe the day or anything.  I was pretty much lackadaisical (love that word – hope it’s one of the ones in the Adult Spelling Bee in December) about the whole event.  Grateful to have lived another year, of course.  But didn’t see any reason to make a big deal out of it.

For some reason, my attitude has changed this year.  Maybe it’s because I have this “it’s all about me” blog and I am starting to enjoy a little extra attention (although Wonderbutt is the actual star).  Perhaps it’s because I now have Wonderbutt, who happens to share my same birth month, who makes me laugh while I cry every day.

But, I think that it more than likely has to do that they are announcing a new iPhone next week, and I am wa-a-a-a-ay overdue for an upgrade.

Yeah, so in my post, The Curable Romantic, I kind of mentioned that gadgets are the best way to my heart these days.  And, fortunately, Cap’n Firepants is well aware of this.    He has already verified with me that I am interested in the iPhone Nimbus 2000 or whatever they are going to call it.  And I think he has been quite impressed that I haven’t dropped my current iPhone in the river, as I did with my last, non-smart, mentally deficient phone.

So, I think there is a good chance that iPhone >4 will be my birthday “surprise”, although I won’t be able to hold it in my hands on my actual birthday.

I am excited.  Who cares if I am getting old and wrinkly?  As long as Apple keeps finding more ways to take my money every six months and Wonderbutt has more wrinkles than I do, I can deal with it.

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