March 2, 2006

• Birthday Blues

  Well, it’s my birthday tomorrow. Beyond a doubt, it will suck. My birthdays always do. I think in my entire life, I’ve had maybe one good birthday.

  
  

  March birthdays suck because they’re so close to tax time. You’re either broke because you’ve paid up your taxes, or broke because you’re waiting for a refund. My mother’s car is in the shop and will probably cost $1000 to fix or so she keeps telling me. I asked for a dresser for my birthday, not even new. I asked for a used one because I don’t like the shoddy, expensive new furniture you can buy these days, and they couldn’t even do that. I even went through the local free newsletters looking for a cheap one. Nope, couldn’t even spend $45 on me. I asked for earmuffs. Probably won’t get that either, mostly because they’re not taking me seriously on that request. It’s not like I need or want anything expensive. Aside from a new bed (which I didn’t ask for or even mention to anyone, I’ll get it when I have the money), there’s nothing costly that I need. It is over a decade old though, so past time to replace.

  
  

  I work tomorrow, so they were going to take me out today. Not even to any place I want to go, but what is convenient for them. But now we’re not going anyway because there’s a winter storm today. Maybe Tuesday, when I have off again. I’m not looking forward to it. I’m more than disgusted with birthdays in general. Most people hate birthdays because they’re getting older. I actually like birthdays because I get to tell people I’m older and still not look it. Good genes. But I think I’d like to give up birthdays completely just so I don’t have to go through this suck-fest every year. I wish I could win the lottery and move far away from my family. They’re the reason I hate my birthdays anyway. They can’t do even the tiniest little thing I ask for. Like my birthday cake.

  
  

  Usually my mom buys me a cake at a bakery, but as she’s strapped for cash, she told me she was making one. I was okay with that. I told her I wanted a double layer white cake with raspberry filling and butter cream icing. I also told her emphatically that I did not want a box cake. I even looked up a couple recipes online so she would have a choice. So early this morning, she went and bought the cake Pillsbury thinks I should enjoy.

  
  

  I can’t tell any more if I am pissed off or just depressed about the general suckage of my birthday. It’s like this every year. It’s not like I ask for a lot. Would it have been so difficult to make me a cake without all the preservatives? I feel kind of offended that my birthday is only “celebrated” at a level convenient to the people in my family. I mean why even ask me what I want if they don’t care? I always take a lot of time picking out their presents, and cooking for them, whatever they want. It’s not fair that they don’t show me the same consideration. I just feel so unappreciated. I might as well not even exist.

  
  

  Last year my sister gave me $50. Probably more than she’s ever given me. Of course, a few days later she cracked up her car. I gave her the money back to help her get a new one. You think she could have said thank you? Nope.

  
  

  Work’s going to be awful this weekend. I’m going to be crabby and disagreeable, and the customers will be just as stupid as ever. I thought when I got a job at a bookstore, finally I would have the opportunity to use my brain and be appreciated for my intellect, but when idiots come into the store and tell me they saw a book on some daytime talkshow and they don’t know the author or title, but the cover was blue, I want to scream! Nevermind that on the off-chance I do find the book it is most definitely never blue, I don’t spend my time sitting around watching television and NEVER talkshows. Some days I feel like every customer that comes into the store is Pres-for-life Bush’s slightly smarter, but still moronic cousin.

  
  

  I feel like hitting something.

  • 10:13 am
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