A Growing Mystery…

I was going to keep it under wraps and hide my embarrassment, but it’s a slow news day here at Xanadu, so we’ll talk about this for a few minutes: On my birthday I got some texts wishing me a happy one. A few of them I didn’t recognize. One of them has now gotten out of control.

(“Mulva?”)

Normally, if I don’t recognize a number I’ll be blunt and cut through the pleasantries. “Who is this?” is a common response of mine. On my birthday, however, a brief period hit where everybody on their lunch break sent me a message, so I had little time to respond with care to each. I simply put, “Thanks!” The person responded, and responded again. Suddenly I was in a conversation. I thought that maybe it was a Google voice number of somebody I know, since I have been duped like that before. Then the hammer dropped: I sent a picture of my kid’s sonogram, and the mysterious person went wild. If it had been who I thought it was, they would have already had that information. I was completely confused.

I felt like I’d crossed a line. Having shared sonogram pictures and birthday wishes, it didn’t seem right to suddenly send, “By the way, who the hell is this?” I had been faking familiarity, and I was too far into the routine to turn back.

Today the person has contacted me again. The time is approaching where I’ll have to come clean. That is, unless the person is reading this. I’ve got a few texts today, (I know most of you), but for the sake of equality, how’s about everybody who texted me today send me their name? Sound good?

I totally know you, I just don’t know you, you know?

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With Apologies to Various Mikes….

Yesterday was the anniversary of my birth, which I spent trying to kill myself. It wasn’t the original plan, but as often is the case, adjustments were made on the fly to accommodate new desires. The best part is that I may have succeeded.

It’s been said that alcohol is the only intoxicant in the world where people have to tell you that you’re intoxicated. All others, be they pills, plants, or powders, cause the user to almost immediately exclaim, “Hot damn! I am WASTED!” With booze, nobody ever believes it. They assure you they are totally fine, and that very little of their abilities have been impaired. They say this while they’re laying on the floor.

I ended my birthday last night laying on the floor. A cake on the table, gifts from the Redhead next to it, and the Redhead looking on as I listened to Cracker and bemoaned my “carsickness.”

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Cracker - Happy Birthday To Me

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

40 plays

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Happy Birthday, Mom!

Happy Birthday to Mother Blogs today! She doesn’t even know this blog exists, so if somebody could pass this message along to her I’d appreciate it.

Actually, it may be best if she still doesn’t know this blog exists, due to the occasional cuss word and radical right wing warmongering I love so much. Of course, she doesn’t even have an email address, so I should be safe. She did get an iphone however….

Damnit, I better call her for damage control.

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Birthday Presence

Happy Birthday to The Redhead today! My girl has entered a new chapter in her life. When I turned 30 it was a frightening endeavor. The additional years of existence, when cross referenced with my “Life Goals Accomplished” grease board, can sometimes make me feel like I’m not living enough. Existing, yes. Living? Oh well. Not every goal will be accomplished. Since I was a kid, I’ve always seen myself as the future leader of mankind, destined to defeat the Alien Robot Overlords and reclaim the planet for Humanity. But as I get on in years, I just start to wonder, are these Aliens ever going to BOTHER? I don’t know how my joints will handle a Intergalactic Revolution at 50 years old. Plus I don’t work out a whole lot, so it’s really going to be a strain on me anyway. I have circulation problems and can get cold fairly easily. It is very cold in space…..

But anyway, It’s Red’s birthday today, and with her entry into a new decade, she should hopefully feel a relief of some pressure. 29 is a hard age. You feel like you’re running out of time to get things done. You feel old. You’re barely hanging on to your 20’s by your fingernails, watching 22 year olds make blissfully dumb decisions and act like they’re still in college (which many are). 30 years old? Fuhgeddaboudit. You just got here! You haven’t even taken your shoes off! It’s like the first 5 minutes of work when everybody claims to be “settling in.” Even people in their 30’s give you a pass. “30? Please. Talk to me when you’re 35.”

Welcome, my little precious, to the fun times. The 40 year olds call us young, and for the next couple of years, 20 year olds will still listen to us like we’re Gandalf or some sage old wise man, like… oh, let’s say Nat, The Peach Pit guy.

Happy Birthday, honey.

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