Preventative maintenance

I'm tellin' ya--I'm a little nervous tonight.

Things are just going TOO smoothly for me and that can't be right.

Something bad always happens when things are going well for me.

I figured I'd blog about it because maybe it'll ward off the bad ju-ju's I'm certain I'm headed for.

Seems blogging isn't only my newest form of therapy, but my new obssession in good karma preventative maintenance.

So, like I said, things are going well. My writing is better than ever--it pours outta me like water from a hose. My boys are having stellar years in school. My friends are healthy. My house is clean, thanks to Maria. My lawn is mowed, thanks to Paco (that's REALLY his name). I'm all of a sudden spilling my guts for the world to see and working on my self expression skills seems to be showing signs of improvement. I have a really great boyfriend who's a smart ass and cracks me up.

My pool is filling with water as we speak. I don't have any new wrinkles and I don't think anymore cellulite has developed on my ass. Though, I could be wrong because I mostly am a see no evil kinda gal. Meaning, I close my eyes to the obvious. Soon, I'll need a seeing eye dog for all of my denial.

And just this very second--it hit me.

I know EXACTLY what's wrong with me. I know exactly WHY I'm so worried, besides the fact that I'm worrier extraordonaire. I worry about everything. Mostly, I don't do it out loud--today, I'm gonna. Christ, I'm just a fountain of sharing as of late, huh? I spew every chance I get. it's pathetic.

So, here's my trouble.

My birthday.

I'll be thirty-nine very, very soon.

I don't mind thirty-nine. I'm okay with the number--it's the birthday I don't much care for.

I had a WHOPPER of a thirtieth. It was REALLY bad. Again, not the number--the actual day that sucked-- like it could have been right out of a Jerry Springer freak show sucked. LOLLOLLOLLOL

I'll suffice it to say, that it was a WAY bad day. So bad in fact, I really kinda wanted to skip the rest of them for twelve lifetimes to come.

Do you think because it will be my birthday that I can be granted a special pass then, can curl up in my bed and not come out until it's over? Can you do that with 2 kids, their friends, X-box, 4 dogs, two cats, the writing schedule from hell, a mom and the pool guy?

Is it possible?

No, I think not. Sadly, this means, my sons will torture me. My mom will inevitably give me a cake that has Barbie on it. My dad will call and say, "Hey, princess, guess who's thirty-nine today? Who's still the prettiest girl in the whole, wide world?" My sons will eat the cake my mother bakes and remind me I'm not having any because my thighs will spread. I've taught the wee grasshoppers well, eh?

I love my family, but reminding me it's my birthday is like rubbing salt in my thirty-nine year old open wound. LOLLOL

Something bad ALWAYS happens on my birthday.

Oy.

I think this year, I'm making reservations at the Motel Six (cuz they leave the light on), buying a carton of cigarettes, downing a bottle of booze while I smoke like Puff the Magic Dragon and getting snockered.

Course, I'm not much of a drinker--so snockered isn't hard for me to achieve. I can do that in like a half a glass of wine.

With my luck--I'd do just that, have a lit cigarette, pass out and set myself on fire--then, I'd live, because I enjoy suffering, Motel Six would sue the shit outta me for trashing my room after I'd recuperated in a year's worth of physcial therapy and my hair would STILL grow back ten times as unruly as it was before I burned it all off. I'd have an attorney's bill to rival Ivana Trump's, no way for future earnings, and end up living in a cardboard box up the road in the woods.

Okay, so, the Motel Six is out. Or at least the alcohol is.

Thoughts on birthday avoidance, anyone?

LOLLOLLOLLOL


DC :)