Friday, May 28, 2010

Going Going Back Back to Cali Cali

California, here we come! Dream of californication! California, rest in peace! What do you say we leave for California! I wish they all could be California girls! California knows how to party! Hey, hey you know what to do - drive away to Malibu! Well the girls are frisky in old Frisco, a pretty little chick wherever you go! San Francisco days, San Francisco nights!

I don't know any more California songs!

I should maybe lay off the Diet Dr. Pepper. I seem to be a little...overexcited. Whatever. We leave for California in 2 days and I am mostly excited because right now it is 30 degrees cooler in San Francisco than it is here.

Now I just have to finish packing from my master list, double check to make sure everything is actually in the suitcase, pack a carryon with essentials in case the luggage gets lost, double check all gates and departure times, make sure we aren't seated in an emergency exit (I can't take the responsibility) stay awake the night before we leave from excitement, and stay awake on the flight to keep the plane from crashing.

(Oooh! Ooh! I am still living with your ghost! Lonely and dreaming of the west coast!)

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Delicious murder?

Yesterday I ran by a house. Its a house I run by everyday, and I've never really looked at it before. But yesterday I ran by a house and I looked at it.

The house is locally famous now. A person who was staying there was questioned, early Tuesday morning, regarding the disappearance of a local woman. And he ran away from the cops, toward an elementary school, with a gun in his hand. The NLR police department shot and killed him. And you can't tell that anything ever happened.

I've been out of sorts since this happened. My thoughts are all scattered, and I don't guess they are coming together anytime soon. On the one hand, there's the seriousness of the issue. A man is dead, whether he was a suspected criminal or not, and that should matter. A person is a person, and a life is a life. On the other hand, there's the black humor:

*Guess I know my neighborhood really is safe. We shoot suspected murderers, after all.
* Don't antagonize NLRPD. They will put a cap in yo' ass.
* NLRPD: We're armed, and we love to shoot!
*What does it say about the local police that it took 5 of them simply to question someone?

The weirdest part is, I think this whole incident really just convinced me to go back to vegetarianism. I guess its because I've been thinking about the value of life, and does some life have more merit than other life? And if the answer is no, I need to stop eating meat and if the answer is yes, then I'm pretty sure an innocent cow comes before a murderer and I still need to stop eating meat.

So, hello, vegetarian food! I actually kind of missed you.


Thursday, May 20, 2010

We Should Have Named Her Lenny

That dog. The one right up there. The one that is shaped like a barrel with 4 toothpicks sticking out the bottom. The one that is built in the least aerodynamic way possible? That dog leaped into the air and snagged a live bird the other day.
And then she played it to death. It was like watching Godzilla take on Flower from Bambi in a cage match. But she doesn't actually mean it, which really just makes it that much more horrifying to watch.
She just wants to pet the rabbits, is what I'm saying.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

You Don't Have to Send Me Flowers, Is What I'm Saying

My husband works with a very lovely woman who is nothing like me at all.

Backstory: Prior to my birthday, I told my husband not to worry about gifts or anything like that. Knowing my husband as well as I do, I did not make this statement lightly, or with the intention of him buying me something anyway (why do people do this? Why would you say you don't want something, and then get upset when someone listens to you and doesn't do/get whatever it is you want? This puzzles me). However, she and I are not the same, and she hounded him daily at work about how he HAD to get me something, I was lying if I said I didn't expect him to get me anything, blah blah blah. I guess she convinced him to send me flowers, even though he knows my feelings on flowers. I have explained to him in detail the 5 stages of receiving flowers, and why seriously, look me in the eye and read my lips, its not worth it. Really.

So, for you, the 5 Stages I Have to Go Through Every Time Someone Sends Me Flowers

For the first several minutes after receiving flowers, there is a glowy, warm feeling. You feel special and loved, and also better than everyone around you. This is the adult version of neener-neener-neener.

After about 5 minutes, the special lovely feeling begins to fade, and then the realization begins to set in that your flowers are going to die. They have been speeded along the irrevocable death march, and its all so you can feel special. This stage is a little like visiting a family member in the hospice ward. You love them, but you know they are not going to make it, and you begin to prepare yourself.

Now you are watching your lovely bouquet for signs of wilt, droop, and death. You know that it is coming, and you just want to get it over with. You keep thinking about how expensive it is to send flowers, and how you are going to have to clean up after your new gift, and the slimy gunk that is always on the ends of the stems when you finally have to throw them away. This phase lasts a little while, and may or may not occassionally wake you up at night.

You have to try to keep your flowers alive for as long as possible. You change the water and use the tips and tricks given to you by co-workers (7-up in the water, sugar in the water, pretty much anything in the water that's going to contribute to that smelly slime when you throw them away). You clean up dead leaves, dropped petals, and the weird random dirt that falls out of bouquets. You begin to feel that you have been asked to do more work, even though it was supposed to be a gift to you. You begin to wonder why people think you want gifts that entail more responsibility? Do they secretly hate you?

There is a subset of this where I wonder about the origination of the whole tradition? Why do people send flowers? In romantic situations I would guess it is because you can no longer drop a wolverine at a woman's feet and have her swoon with unbridled lust at your manliness (modern people are really kind of squeamish aren't we?) But flowers don't really convey the same principle do they? I mean, I guess if a guy has $100 to drop on roses, then yes the message is I can provide for you. But I think the message of the dead wolverine is more than that; its yes, I can provide for you, but I can also protect you. I mean, seriously, do you see that thing? I killed it! This sends another, hidden message that says here is DNA you want to pass on to your children. Flowers might convey a monetary ability to provide, but its not really that hard to kill a flower is it?

Its time to throw your flowers away. The digust is manifested on two levels: the physical and the emotional. You are disgusted by the dead flowers, the slime (have I mentioned the slime), and the fact that no matter what you do the damn things don't seem to want to go in the trash can. On an emotional level, you are disgusted that you could not magically keep the flowers alive forever and also feel as though maybe it would have been easier had your loved one handed you a wad of cash to be immediately thrown in the garbage, or lit on fire.

You see why I'd rather not get flowers, right?

Monday, May 17, 2010

Stop Raining on My Parade, Already. I Earned It!


I'm sorry that the recent congratulations directed my way in re: my masters degree is turning you into a complete and utter asshole.

Let's get something straight: its not about you. Its not about being smarter than you. Its not about anything to do with you. Its about me achieving something that I wanted for the purpose of improving my life and being able to do a job I've wanted to do since I was 10 fucking years old. Its about me setting a goal for myself, and fucking well accomplishing it.

So, in answer to your repeated and pointed questions and statements:

1. No, I do not think this makes me smarter than you. I actually do think I'm smarter than you, but it has nothing to do with who has the higher degree. It actually has to do with the fact that I think you are the walking embodiment of Chicken Little. Or maybe its because you can't use the copy machine by yourself and you constantly ask me how to do the simplest tasks in Word or Excel.

2. Good for you that there are guys in the field with masters degrees and you had to train them. But FYI, a masters degree does not actually confer upon a person an instantaneous and omniscent knowledge. Having to train people to do a job they've never done before that you have been doing for 10 years doesn't make you smarter than them.

3. What the fuck is your problem? Is it that the office gave me a very nice gift? Because, while an iPod nano is totally awesome, it doesn't really make up for the fact that I've been here 3 years and never once gotten a raise. Is it the degree itself? I hate to break this to you, but there's no reason you can't have one, too. Seriously. There's no special trick to it, you don't have to be blessed with a rich daddy or a lot of time on your hands. All you have to do it. There's no need to ask my friends if this "suddenly made me smart" and there's no need to take digs at me every time I run into you.

Seriously, what are you like 50 now? Grow the fuck up and try not to be such an asswipe in the future.

Megs (Master of the Fucking Universe, muahaha)

P.S. You might want to consider psychological help. Seriously, it can't be good for you to be this filled with insecurity and resentment when other people accomplish things.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

I Have Two Words for You, and They Are These: Boo. Yah.

My husband sprained his ankle standing at his desk.

Yes, I have walked into that exact same door frame every day since we lived in this house, but at least I didn't sprain my ankle standing at my desk.

Yes, I did just whack my head on the bathroom counter for the 5,000th time. At least I didn't sprain my ankle standing at my desk.

Yes, Mr. Smarty Pants, I did just trip over my own foot. But I've never sprained my ankle by standing up. Don't we know someone who did that once? Oh, yeah, it was you! In your face.

Yeah I did just spazz out and unintentionally dump a plate of my spaghetti all down my front. But I've never sprained my ankle at my freaking desk. Who looks stupid, now, huh? Okay, since I haven't changed shirts yet, maybe that one is a draw.

Perhaps you think I am running this into the ground. And I totally, totally am. Its got to be half way to China by now, and still digging. The thing is, I've known this man for 10 years. In that time, I have hit my head on uncountable cabinet doors, car door frames, and random shelves. I have knocked over entire displays in department stores. I have poked myself in the eye with everything from straws to my own glasses to my husband's cake smeared finger (yes, at my wedding). I have tripped over my own feet on a regular basis, and on one memorable occasion, I kicked myself in my own shin. Not to mention the number of food and beverage items I have upended on my own person just because sometimes my hands think they belong to someone else. In 10 years do you know what uncoordinated things he has done? He has sprained his ankle standing up at his desk at work. And that's it. So I am going to milk this baby until its dry (that's what she said) and I am also going to wait patiently for my "Best Wife Ever" award to come in the mail.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Wonder Twin Powers Activate

Saturday I spent 18 years at Lowe's (and by the way, thanks to Amber at nostomanic for the excellent instructions on how to build a flux capacitor...totally saved my life).

In my house, we are each expected to use our superpowers for the good of the entire household. My superpower is the amazing and astounding ability to always, but always, find a helpful and knowledgeable sales associate within 5 minutes of entering any retail establishment. actually a pretty awesome superpower. This also means that I am generally the one elected to do shopping. With great power comes great responsibility, I guess, and also I need something sucky to balance out the power, so that I do not become power mad and take over the world one helpful sales person at a time. (Interestingly, my husband's superpower is the ability to get rid of door to door sales people, which I can never do. They always ask to speak to my husband, which pisses me off, but does it make them leave when I get mad? It does not. Except that one guy who actually asked to speak to my parents. He was really embarrassed).

Aside: My husband needed some line for the weedeater. I know nothing of the weedeater. So I find the associate, of course, and get him on the phone with my husband. They had to bond, so this took like 11 of the 18 years I was there. By the way, his name was Jeff and there was lots of "Dude" and "Man" and technical mumbo jumbo about various different kinds of weedeaters that are not our weedeater. Also, I was on a quest for either a lilac or an old fashioned rose for my mother in law, and in case you couldn't tell from the weedeater debacle I am not exactly knowledgeable about stuff for the garden so it took another 7 years and I still got the wrong thing. Anyway, lots of time to think, is what I'm saying.

So I'm thinking about how I can always find a sales person, even when I don't want one. And how this is especially easy for me in Lowe's. I cannot walk down the aisles without tripping over at least 3 of them, whether I need them or not. I am beginning to suspect that its not really a superpower so much as it is people feeling that I need to be rescued. Clearly, my ovaries mean I have no idea what I'm doing at any given time and can't possibly be expected to know what I need and find it. Its especially true in Lowe's. I am a girl, therefore I know nothing about hardware stuff. My husband can NEVER find anyone to help him, but most especially at hardware stores and the like. Because testosterone comes pre-packaged with knowledge of power tools and how to fix things.

Its very disappointing and life altering to realize what you thought was a superpower was really just sexism.

The Month of May is Pretty Much All About Celebrating How Freaking AWESOME I Am

Today is my adoption anniversary. My family has never exactly celebrated the day, per se. I think my mom felt a little weird about celebrating a day in which you say, "Well, someone else didn't want you! But WE did! Congratulations! Here's a present!" Also, my grandmother thought it would be confusing for me to celebrate both (I feel a bit...underestimated by this assessment, and also cheated. I have been cheated out of another opportunity to receive presents).

Anyway, what generally happens on this day is my mom tells me how happy she was to have a baby, and that she loves me. Since I was little she's also told me the story of my adoption, what she knows of my biological family, how they loved me and that's why they gave me up etc. As I've gotten older she's told me more details about failed adoptions prior to me and how no one would let her buy any baby stuff because they'd already been disappointed a couple of times. Plus, it is a day to reminisce about how cute I used to be (remember when you called that guy fat in the grocery store and I had to run away humiliated leaving a full cart of groceries behind? Yes, Mom, I remember because I did not know a human butt could get that red after a spanking!)

So, okay. Let's get in the spirit and celebrate the day. And the best way I know to get in the spirit of anything, apparently, is to make a list. So here is a list of random things about being adopted.

1. My biological parents are Sicilian immigrants who had 6 children prior to me, came to America, got separated, decided to get back together, got pregnant again, and then filed for divorce. I have never had any anger at my birth mother for this decision - single mom with 6 kids? Bad. Single mom with 7 kids? Even badder, I would think. So you know, thanks for not aborting me instead, I guess. I am more upset that I got the Sicilian nose and tendency toward excessive body hair without any of the benefits. I do not look like Appollonia and I do not have any mafia connections.

2. I feel like I dodged a bullet on the whole family thing. Instead of being the baby of a large family with a mother who would never be able to be home if we all wanted to eat, I got to be the only child of an older mother who gave me pretty much whatever I wanted. Not to mention the sole focus of the doting grandparents and even my half brothers treated me like a princess. Which is probably why I still have princess-y tendencies. But I can tell you about those later.

3. My mom has told me about my adoption for as long as I can remember. I didn't know that some people didn't tell their kids they were adopted. Weirdly enough, my first boyfriend was also adopted. His parents didn't tell him until he was older. He had a lot of trouble with it. I never did. I'm not telling you how to raise your kids, I'm just saying. Kid who was not told: extra emotional and psychological issues. Kid who was told: I won't say I don't have any issues, but they aren't EXTRA issues.

4. People feel uncomfortable when you tell them you're adopted. I'm not sure why this is. Most common question I was asked in grade school: Does it feel different since you didn't come out of your mommy's tummy? And the answer is, if you remember your own birth, you are a far better person than I. No, it does not feel different. (Sometimes little kids are jackholes, and they would follow this up with, doesn't it bother you that your real mom didn't want you? But I could be a jackhole, too. No, it doesn't bother me because my mom WANTED me and PICKED me. Your mom just got stuck with you).

5. I was a little confused about the process of adoption for a while, and imagined my mom going to a store (Babies R Us?) and literally choosing me from a wide selection of infants. I figured I must have been the cutest and that's why she picked me. Yes, I felt that my adoption was much like when my grandparents would take me shopping for a Barbie.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

I Live to Help

Today I am 28. To celebrate this momentous occassion, I bring you:

28 Life Lessons I have Learned the Hard Way so You Don't Have To (even though, if you are anything like me, you totally will anyway). You're Welcome.

1. If you are a 15 year old girl and a 19/20 year old guy is hitting on you (and continues to try to hit on you, even though you told him you were 15) you should run as far and fast as you can. There is something wrong with this guy. Really, really wrong. I know you may be tempted to think that you are just that special, but probably you are not. This guy is the walking, talking definition of loser.

2. If a guy tells you he loves you on the very first date (a blind date, at that) you should fake an attack of the stomach flu and never, ever pick up the phone when he calls. He has emotional problems, and you will not like where this leads. At all. Like, you should probably keep an eye on your bunny.

3. Anyone who dates you to make a political statement is a jackass.

4. Everyone should take one major vacation by themselves. That was the best/scariest time I ever had in my life. A word of caution though: do not go anywhere with the guy who wants to "take pictures of you." I may have missed my shot at being an international supermodel, but on the other hand I also wasn't raped or spread eagle on the internet for all the world to see.

5. There is nothing wrong with your nose/face/breasts/hips/thighs/belly/body hair/hair color/toe nails. You are fine. Someone will love you anyway, I promise. I say this as a person who shops for bras in the children's section and has a Sicilian heritage. If it would really, truly make you happy to change something - go for it. But the people I know who have changed things have always just found something else not to like. Also, Michael Jackson.

6. No one is judging you nearly as much as you think they are judging you. In fact, they are all too worried that you are judging them to really, properly judge you.

7. Going out to eat on Valentine's Day is a special torture in hell. It is reserved for people who rape cats. Why would you voluntarily put yourself through that for the most pointless holiday in the history of pointless holidays?

8. It may seem like a good idea to eat an entire can of smoked almonds. It is not.

9. It is entirely too easy to flush a cell phone down a toilet. It is embarrassing to stand in the ladies' room with two redneck maintenance men while they attempt to fish your phone out of the toilet. Especially because they will loudly question, and re-question, how the hell you managed to flush your phone, anyway. You will not get the phone back (and honestly, do you REALLY, REALLY want it back NOW?) and it will be a waste of your time and the maintenance guys' time.

10. Bad boys are only fun in movies and literature. When you date a real life bad boy you should probably not be too surprised when you find yourself standing on the side of the road while the cops perform a search on your car because, oh, yeah, did he forget to mention he was awaiting trial on charges of felony possession of meth? Which means they can search your car. In fact, they can search you if they want to. And you realize the relationship isn't going to work because you are not reassured when he says, "But don't worry. I wouldn't bring that stuff in your car or anything."

(At this point, you should be imagining yourself hanging out of a trailer with rat's nest hair. You are wearing a tank top and underpants. The spotlight from the police helicopter is illuminating the scene from above, and you are screaming while he is bent over the hood of the police cruiser, forever marring the paint with his greasy hair. )

Then you should take that boy back to whatever friend's house he's crashing at that week, and burn rubber as you take off and never, ever look back.

11. It is entirely possible to split a fifth of whiskey with one other person, take 15 shots, and not die. I don't know if its possible to do that without FEELING like you're going to die, but it is possible to not ACTUALLY die (well, I didn't die; someone else maybe could. I'm just saying its possible not to, not that anyone should actually attempt this).

12. There is no fun that is worth the way you will feel the morning after you drink that much. Seriously, ponies and rainbows and a huge pink Barbie party just for you are not enough fun to be worth the hell you will feel.

13. If you are the designated driver you will end up at a Taco Bell drive-through window with 6 drunk boys who won't stay in the car. You might almost get arrested.

14. One of the drunk boys will puke in your car. He will offer to clean it up the next day, but there is no way in hell he'll do it early enough to suit you. Might as well hold your breath and clean it up yourself.

15. Hurricanes actually DO have alcohol in them. If you drink three before you realize this, you might be a little fuzzy on how you got back to your hotel room and why the hell your shoes are so clean (and it could be because you were accosted by a bum on the walk back who cleaned your shoes with windex and then demanded $10. That's probably also where that $10 went).

16. When you get married, you will never be able to shower uninterrupted ever again. Even though there is a second bathroom, he will want to use the one you are in. If I ever figure out how to stop this, I'll let you know.

17. Your mother is not going to change. She's probably always going to treat you like you are seven. Nothing can be done about this.

18. If a man tells you he did some laundry while you were gone, be sure to check that the laundry actually made it into the dryer. It will mildew, and that smell ain't ever coming out completely.

19. You cannot do everything you put your mind to. I'm sorry. If you are a 90s child like me I'm sure you were raised to believe in your very special specialness, and that you can do anything you want. But you can't. And that's okay. Some of the greatest lessons in my life came through failure (wow. That was schmaltzy). As an example, there was a time when what this meant to me personally was that I could be a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, a fairy princess, and a veterinarian. And then I could also be Jane Goodall. All in the same lifetime. I cannot actually do any of those things. OK, I maybe could have been a veterinarian. But still. The dream was to have it ALL.

20. Work in food service and retail. It will make you a nicer person. Okay, except that one time I went off on a customer but dude seriously...two waitresses, 100 some math and realize you ain't getting your food in 5 minutes. You want food in 5 minutes go to McDonald's. (And yes, they did complain about me to the owner, who LAUGHED at them, because she knew I would NEVER do that without damn good reason. And then she gave me a raise. God I miss her).

21. If you, like me, are in a male-dominated industry that requires field work...the best way to get most men to do what you want is to act a little like their mother. Don't flirt, and don't be a hard-core bitch if you can help it. Also, when you are going to be working with construction workers maybe leave the tank tops and the cute little wedge sandals at home (I have never worn inappropriate clothes on a job site, but you would be surprised how many girls think tromping through the woods or at a railyard is the perfect place for three inch heels and a mini-skirt. It is not. Never).

22. Like what you like. Its such a huge waste of time to pretend to be into something you hate just because its more acceptable to the people around you. I pretended to like Mystical for a month once, to impress a boy who liked rap. I also pretended to like Death Cab for Cutie at one point in order to be more "indie." I still don't like either one. And I'll admit it, I do actually occasionally rock out to Britney Spears. I refuse to be ashamed. Okay, I'm a little ashamed.

23. I fully expected to be presented with a brand new automobile wrapped in a pretty red bow on my 16th birthday. This only happens on Saved by the Bell. Chances are good no one is ever going to present anyone with a brand new car wrapped in a big red bow. Do not hold your breath, is what I'm saying.

24. Being alone can be good for the soul. I recommend being alone on a regular basis.

25. Red Bull does not taste good in anything. Please do not ruin a perfectly good vodka by adding Red Bull to it.

26. Girl push ups do not prepare you for anything other than girl push ups. If you want to be able to do real push ups, you just have to start doing real pushups. And I was going to make this another schmaltzy metaphor (involving sports this time!) but I have no more Hallmark moments left in me, after that first one. So, DIY advice.

27. Hamburger Helper is never, under any circumstances, a good idea.

28. Everything will be okay. Or it won't. And there's usually jack shit you can do about it anyway (although I keep trying. Probably, I haven't completely learned this one yet. This one is a little easier after two glasses of wine, or some form of medication).

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Someone is Probably About to Ask Me, "Is it that time of the month?" And Then My Head is Going to Explode.

I am crabby. Here is a list of the things that have made me unreasonably angry in the past 10 hours:

1. My husband shaved, and he didn't clean out the sink. He never cleans out the sink after he shaves. Normally, I just wipe out the sink and go on with my day. Today, I ranted for 20 minutes (at the dogs, he sneaked out before I could rant at him) about how angry that made me.

2. People cutting me off. To be fair, this happens all the time, too. But today I deployed the time honored gesture of disapproval, which I normally don't do because I like to live and people frighten me. And really, I'm just a delicate little flower who doesn't like confrontation. Today, I felt the finger was better than my other reflex, which was to ram the next person who cut me off.

3. My pants. Why is it so freaking hard to make a pair of women's pants? Why must all my pants be too tight in the ass and thighs and yet have room in the waist band for both my fists, a small dog, and another person?

4. My mother's anxiety about my trip at the end of the month. She is always anxious. And yet, her expressed anxiety that we will be hijacked by terrorists when we fly to San Francisco pissed me off.

5. The telephone. I curse Alexander Graham Bell and anyone else who had anything to do with the creation of this accursed invention. Stop. Ringing.

6. My "promotion" to "professional status" which comes with no perks. I am not a secretary, but I get treated like a secretary. "I see that you are working feverishly on those 18 reports piled on your desk, but please stop for a moment to print this or copy that or retrieve that file for me." There are two other women here (who get secretarial perks like overtime, which I do not get) who could do that. But please. Have me do it.

7. E-mailing me things so that I can print them for you. Are you kidding? Is it really easier to write an e-mail, attach a document, and send it to me (then harrass me no end until you get your print job) than it is to just click the little print icon?

8. My hair. I cannot even describe to you how much a pain in the ass it is to have my hair. It is straight there, but it is wavy there, and yes those are a few random corkscrew curls thrown in for the hell of it. The only consistent thing about it is the frizz. Normally, I put it up and never think on it again. Today, I can feel it up there. I can feel each individual strand being a complete asshole. Today I am considering the relative merits of a buzz cut.

9. The phone conversation on the other side of the cubicle divider. The clicking of high heels. Does she have to type that hard? Is it necessary to breathe that loudly? Does the sun have to shine so much?

10. My yogurt. It is not expired. So why is it separated and clumpy? I looked forward to that yogurt all day, and I didn't even get to enjoy it. (Also, my banana was annoying this morning, too. Peeling the damn thing made my skin crawl).

I do not know what the hell is wrong with me today. I hope this isn't the start of the failure of the pills I've been taking for anxiety. That, too, will seriously piss me off. Maybe its just birthday blues, and the fact that this one will probably suck a little bit. It was my idea that my husband not get me a present. And I stand by that. We spent a lot of money in April on cars, and home stuff, and a vacation at the end of the month that's a combination graduation/birthday present. But for whatever reason I've been all mopey about it the past couple of days, because I didn't realize how much I want the EXACT DAY to feel special. And its ridiculous, because its not like we won't celebrate at some point or I'm not getting something awesome. And its not like there's even anything particularly awesome that I want. The trip is what I want. I would pretty much always rather travel than get a material item. I'm not lying when I say I don't want anything else. But now its expanded to this complete fantasy in my head where I'm Molly Ringwald in 16 Candles and everyone forgets its my birthday altogether. You know, if Molly Ringwald was turning 28.

At least I won't have to wear pink tafetta.