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I notoriously hate birthdays. Not because it makes me a year older, but because the day is usually a disappointment. You know that song, I’ll cry if I want to? That’s me. I put too much pressure on the day to be perfect and enviably something goes wrong.
This year I decided to shake things up. I took the day off work. Then I took successful elements from other birthdays. Throw in the mom and throw out the schedule. Golden. We started the day off at my favourite diner (25th), where I had an amazing mimosa with cinnamon swirl French toast. Then we drove down to Illinois for ice skating (10th) and shopping. I skipped cake and had a giant bag of bulk candy (6th). Then I had dinner at Applebee’s (16th).
Even though I was sleep deprived, ate candy until I felt sick, and failed at shopping, it was an amazing birthday. Why? No expectations. I went with the flow, did things I enjoyed, and rocked out as a grownup and a little kid. After 27 years, I learned that birthdays can be fun. Wacky.
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I’ve lived in the United States for over ten years. Even when I first moved here, it didn’t seem foreign. Not to my 15-year old brain. It did feel a bit like a mirror universe; things were slightly askew. Gone was the French, in with the Spanish. Obviously, the flags were different (and plentiful). The houses were shorter and older. It wasn’t acceptable to say pop, cutlery, or tuque. School started an hour earlier, ran in quarters, and had seven classes a day.
There are things I miss about Canada, but they’re not what you'd expect. I liked picking up change off the ground and having it be worth money. I adore Big Turks and proper hot tea. I miss seeing and reading bilingual anything. Chinooks and the Northern Lights are amazing. I miss hockey, curling, and the frozen ice pond we used as a skating rink.
Home is where you live. People wonder why I haven’t moved back. I loved living there but it’s not home. You can never move back to what you had. You can only move to someplace new.
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The charm is wearing off. My visitors are now creepier and less surprising. We have a two-fer!
There were a ton of cold calls today. A visitor wanted to leave information for the IT Manager. As he stapled his business card to a brochure, he asked me if I was “sure that I could manage doing this.” Buddy, you’re dropping off paper, I think I can manage. After I reassured him I was capable of taking care of this task, he asked to use the bathroom. After he finished, he thanked me for saving a life. I’m glad he appreciated peeing so much. This would constitute as a first impression fail.
The second was on the phone. He started chatting with me. First he wanted to know what I was doing (answering the phones), if I was working late (no), and if I received the cable he dropped off (uh). It was strange. When I admitted I knew nothing of the cable, it finally dawned on him that he had no idea who he was talking to. I suppose I could have told him that but then what would I complain about?
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Saturday night the (glorified) SO and I hosted our first game night. It was something we had wanted to do for a while. Months ago we made plans with two couples. We planned games to try (no monopoly!) and food to serve (nacho bar!). Last week I confirmed the time and date with both couples. We were ready.
I woke up early Saturday to get all my errands finished. I splurged on new wine glasses and fresh blueberries. Everything was coming together. The first couple called to say they would be late. No problem. The second couple (the one I planned the whole party for) called 15 minutes before they were supposed to arrive. I assumed they needed directions. Wrong. They were calling to cancel. She decided she wasn’t feeling well. They wanted to reschedule.
Are. You. Kidding. Me.
We still held our game night. We had a blast. Part of me is upset that they blew us off like that. You didn't know any earlier than that? If I were a doctor’s office, she would be charged for the appointment.
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If you’ve ever gone out to eat with me, you know that I’m not an experimental eater. I tell people that I’m not picky; I’m specific. I know what I like and don’t like to be surprised when it comes to food. My sister likes to tease me; I can go to any restaurant and find a chicken or steak dish (a good restaurant is one that has multiple chicken options).
I’m not sure when the change happened. In the last few months I’ve tried everything from ahi tuna to zucchini. What’s crazier is I’ve been cooking at home. I’ve never liked cooking; it pales in comparison to baking.
The funny thing is, once you start branching out in one place, you start branching out in other places. I’m doing something different for my birthday this year. This week we’re hosting our first game night. I have good intentions on trying yoga in the near future. I even decided it was time to give marriage a try. Heck, at this rate, I might even get on a roller coaster.
Two thousand and ten, you're one crazy year.
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I think my snark has gone up. I’m not sure if it’s from being in the work market, getting older, or a combination of the two, but I’m more argumentative. It’s possible I’m looking for the balance between being a pushover and a bully. Whatever the case, I think my callers are in trouble.
The last few weeks I’ve been cutting off the idiots mid-sentence, hanging up on the ramblers, and calling out the liars. My boss not only approves of this but it brings him glee. What’s good for the career is good for the soul, right?
Today I got in an argument with a caller over an employee. He asked me if he was back at work. I wanted to know why he thought he was gone. Certainly if you knew him well enough to call him at work, you'd know if he was actually HERE. I don’t think I was asking for much. I explained that I didn’t know all 300 employees personally but would page the shop if he was confident his friend was here.
I looked up the employee later. He hasn’t worked here since last April.
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The reason I created a blog was because twitter didn’t offer enough characters to properly vent. Normally the two don’t crossover. This update is an exception.
I mentioned earlier that my coworker confused my breakfast with a bowl of mealworms. When I told him he was crazy, he countered that people around here eat strange things or maybe I was going fishing later. As ridiculous as his assumptions were, it got me thinking: Why do people feel the need to comment on other people’s food? Even if I were eating mealworms (and not delicious pear cobbler oatmeal), what would it matter? Obviously it’s something I want to be eating. No feedback needed.
Many of my coworkers like to comment. My favourites are the ones who tell me that my food disgusts them. I never know if I should apologise when they make those comments. If you go to someone’s house for dinner, you don’t tell say you hate the food. You’re polite. You deal. I expect the same courtesy when they’re not expected to eat my food.
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