I'll give you a second to quit your bitching about my non-post yesterday. Some of us have full time jobs and I have been so busy! Not even online shopping busy. Yesterday, for example, I worked for an hour and forty minutes straight! No g-chatting, no personal calls or texts -- I felt like an indentured servant or Abraham Lincoln. More to the point, birthday week is approaching. Yes, I know you all are eagerly anticipating this event. For those of you unfamiliar with me or the true concept of birthday week, I will elaborate tomorrow, on the start date. Be ready for some inspiration there, little ones. As you will discover, birthday week is not just a time of celebration and cheer; but also self-reflection and consideration. I call that "personal inventory" -- and I've been doing it since I was 10. You're right, I was a child genius . . . I'll think about sharing the process with you all tomorrow. All of this thought and shit is exhausting by itself . . . but coupled with the increased activity at work, I'm surprised I'm still able to write at this point. Its been an odd few days, but birthday fortnight always is, so you'll have to forgive me for missing a day (even though I don't sincerely mean the preceding statement as an apology, so, take it for what you will).
I've got alot of things on my mind. For the reasons above mostly and because I'm a thinker, like that statue. While we're on the topic of birthdays (and I always am, especially when I'm out), I'd like to address a question I've been asked repeatedly over the past month. The query involves what I'd truly like for my birthday. Whether asked by my roommate, father, friends, ex-boos or co-workers . . . I have yet to come up with a good answer.
I have everything I want, essentially. Or so I thought. I've got health, happiness and great fucking hair. I have a list of boys I can call to put on a pair of jorts and come over in 10 minutes flat. I have a top-notch family and truly great friends that I would abso donate a kidney to (such offer is less valuable since my college invention of "blackout week" but I'd still give that shit, so it counts).
I really pondered the question. I hate re-gifting and usually (all the time) just end up throwing shitty, thoughtless presents away . . . unless I can barter with either of my roommates for goods or services. I obvi took the question seriously, with it concerning my favorite holiday and all. We are in a recession, so I don't want people throwing money away, especially in the form of some tacky costume jewelry.
And then, like a lightening bolt. Duh. This year, for my birthday, I'd like both of the following: (1) a professional lotioner; and (2) a tutor for Neville.
You're probably wondering WTF a "lotioner" is. Do you all remember that episode of "Cribs" with Mariah Carey and her shoe closet . . . ? Didn't she have someone to put her shoes on for her (American Royalty, I know) . . . ? I might be making that up but either way - I can abso slip into four-inch heels. BFD, Mariah. But, the lotioning, now there's an area where the assistance of another would so come in handy (no pun intended). And yes, I can get some idiot boy to do it, but the problem is, I need it done right - so that excludes the majority of that group. Listen, I have amazingly supple skin, very soft. It comes natch but I am getting older, and, in addition to keeping my mystic a perfect shade of orange, good lotioning is a necessity. In fact, I often jest that I'd be the perfect candidate for a skin coat - and oftentimes this fate scares me. Especially when I get drunk and insist to boys that I would look good, under any circumstance, as an anorak or sweater. Okay, I'd look good, and it would be super soft, but no thanks. Because the foregoing is starting to freak me the fuck out, I'll just say that yes, I'd like a professional lotioner (not a masseuse . . . I'm fine with my own happy endings, thankyouverymuch - ew) along with a background check.
Now, let's move on to my son, Neville. The little American gentleman. Yes, he is so adorable, and though he's a mixed-race boy, he is a vision of perfection. He's only a baby, so I know complete sentences aren't to be expected yet, but, after all, he is the fruit of greatness. Since I don't have the luxury of being a stay-at-home-mom, I'd love for someone to come in and work with him on his letters and numbers, in addition to proper grammar and keeping his food in his bowl . . . and maybe giving a few more nuzzles; just as a bonus. When we have had the time to go over his sounds I notice a particularly lovely English accent. Furthermore, when I'm hungover, I usually have my sister read me "Miss Nelson is Missing" in an English dialect (whilst feeding me bite size pieces of Saltines), but Neville's already dabbing my forehead with a cool cloth - it'd be so much more effective. Obvi this person will need to provide three references, a background check and be First Aid/CPR Certified.
So, there you have it. None of you ever have a reason to say you don't know what to get me! And if I think of anything else, I'll be sure to let you know, don't worry. So next time you're at Macy's debating on whether to get me a fucking cubic zirconia encrusted heart pendant to celebrate the anniversary of my crawling down my mother's birth canal - save your 20 bucks and think of Neville (pictured below). We all know that in today's world, a child (especially one of both black and white heritages) needs an education.