Signed, sealed, delivered... I am so NOT yours

"How do you tell someone it's over? You send them a notarized letter, right? Well, what if the recipient is your notary?"
~Angela Martin, "The Office"

For once, I identify with the tightly wound Angela. I mean, I've never sent a notarized letter, but I'm near needing some sort of restraining order. How many texts do I ignore before he gets the message? Seriously, if you want to get on my good side, don't text me at 7 a.m. on a Sunday. I am not awake. It does not endear you to me in any way.

Today was the first Monday I've worked in over a month, and this marks the first full week in nearly six. Plus five trips to Rogers. But I got a lot done today. I love my new office. I was turning into one of those bosses... the ones who are out of touch and don't know what people do on a daily basis. Our admin is on vacation this week and today was eye-opening. I mean, I knew she was all kinds of awesome, but I had no idea all of the junk that she deals with so I don't have to. I am humbled. I don't want to answer the phone anymore. No, I don't know where your class is. Where's my diet coke?

I also realized today how not good it is that I'm within walking distance of Target and the mall. It's super convenient to run errands at lunch, but not good for the ol' checkbook.

Dad and V came up after work to treat me to a belated birthday dinner, then I introduced V to my beloved Promenade. I'm sure my Dad is not pleased.

I was uber lazy this weekend, but I did get to see the Texas fam on the 4th, and I'm hoping Jen updates her blog soon with the story about burying the 60 lb. dog in a plastic box full of ice and leaving him in the kitchen overnight. On her birthday. Please, please forgive me for laughing, but that makes my own birthday experience seem less painful. Sure, no one came to my party, but at least nothing died. Except perhaps my dignity.

Tomorrow's another busy day, then it's off to Tulsa for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate Nanner's birthday. I walked four miles tonight in preparation.

And Christy, in case you're reading this, I promise to update the other blog soon. I'm praying for guidance!

Oh, and is anyone else sick of hearing about Michael Jackson? Over the weekend, Steve McNair was murdered, there is a serial killer loose in South Carolina, Roger Federer made tennis history, Palin resigned as Governor of Alaska, and our President is decreasing our nuclear capacity, yet Michael Jackson was the subject of the first ten stories on GMA this morning. People, let's get some perspective! He was talented, yet a freak. Let's not canonize him anytime soon.

Bitter, party of one

The day after my birthday is kind of like the day after Christmas... somewhat of a letdown. The good news is that I still have a couple of celebrations to look forward to, but the bad news is that it's 364 more days until another day that's all about me.

Being a self-absorbed narcissist, I adore being the center of attention. I like all eyes on me. I welcome the spotlight. Always have for some reason.

So I was really looking forward to my birthday party last night. When I mentioned to one of my NWA friends that I'd spent the last two years alone, she insisted on planning a party. After all, we celebrate everyone in the group's birthday in a big way with parties, dancing, dinners, and sometimes even Patron-filled squirt guns.

And yeah, LB had flaked on me which meant I was going dateless and DD-less, but still... this was my party. It was going to be an amazing night.

Turns out not so much. One singular person showed up for dinner. Everyone else had other plans. And sure, individually they all had good reasons, but collectively it sucks that only one person wanted to celebrate with me. I bought new jeans for this. I gave up a weekend in Tulsa with three of my oldest and dearest friends in order to party with my new friends.

It's my party, and I'll gripe if I want to.

Sure, there's world famine and war and oppression world-wide, so I should be happy I got a free meal (Michelle felt so bad to be the only one there she paid for dinner), but I realized last night that I'm not nearly as popular as I thought I was.

Luckily two more of my friends showed up later, with four others in tow. So four people I'd never met helped me celebrate.

Oh, and LB? Not a word yesterday. Not a text, not an email, not a phone call. Yes, I did tell him to leave me alone and I'm sure one could argue he was merely honoring my wishes, but he did know it was my birthday, and after my making such a big deal out of his, I kind of expected some sort of olive branch. Jerk.

I'm not quite sure why I'm awake a mere four hours after going to bed. But at least I'm over my crying jag and feeling sorry for myself. Next year I'll have lower expectations.

This really blows. No, I do not accept this rose.

I've always been fascinated by "The Bachelor" as social commentary. Who are these women who are dating the same man as 24 other beautiful girls, when not given a rose after a 30-second encounter, cry on camera in utter shock? Really? There were 24 other hot chicks and you thought your split-second meeting was meaningful? That's why so many of them make really poor first impressions. They're so afraid Andy/Aaron/Alan/Alex won't remember them come thorn time, they get drunk/talk about feet/boil a rabbit and get shut in the limo, their dreams of falling in love while the world watches dashed.

Granted, that show flies in the face of feminism. What self-respecting woman would subject herself to that cattle call? Most of us get rejected enough on our own when the men in our lives are only dating one or two other people. And then you're pretty much alone in your rejection. Ocassionally there's a waiter who witnesses your shame, but he'll usually avert his eyes and pretend not to notice that the boy can't wait to get out of there and on to his next victim. I don't think I want to be the girl less attractive than 20 other women while my grandmother and first grade teacher watch. With popcorn. Humiliation: film at 11.

My 84-year-old grandmother is obsessed with the show. She and her spry 82-year-old sister watch it faithfully, then call early the next day to discuss the rose ceremony. A few months ago, before the last couple got engaged and subsequently broke up, she was discussing the show with me. (Sidenote: three years ago I met Andy Baldwin at Pearl Harbor, found out Tessa was going to win, and told her before the finale. Now she thinks I've got Bachelor clairvoyancy.)

She says to me, "You think it's terrible that I watch that, don't you?" I responded that while I watched trashier shows than that (read The Hills), I just don't get the Bachelor appeal. Further, I said, "I'm surprised you like that show. Doesn't it bother you that he's sleeping with all of those women at the same time?"

"Not all of 'em," she replied. "Just three."

People, how desensitized has this show made us that my Baptist church preacher's wife grandmother thinks that three concurrent intimate relationships is appropriate? The sky is falling, chicken little.

The reason for this rant is because I've been thinking today about the value of the one-on-one date versus the group date on that show. One-on-one time is better, right?

So why am I so bummed to find out that LB can't come to my birthday party next week? Sure, I get that it's a mandatory work thing and I get that he feels really, really bad about it, but it makes me sad. Consolation is that I get a private dinner instead, but it somehow seems tainted now. Rather than dinner and dancing on a Friday night with all of our friends, I get Tuesday night after work. But at least I'll still be 36 for that outing.

This never happened when I was dating mechanics.

I told him that next time I'd try to be born on a more convenient day for him. Then I let him off the hook. This had better be the most dramatic Tuesday ever, Chris Harrison.

Just call me Katy Perry

Granted, I haven't divulged too many details about the birthday party from last weekend (and the ones I did share I deleted), but the most scandalous thing that happened that night didn't involve LB, or any boy. It was a first for me, most assuredly.

So when I got an email from LB around 8 a.m. this morning and I replied, "Your party will heretofore be known as the first and only time I've been propositioned by a woman," I was surprised by his lack of response. The two or three other people I've told certainly called immediately for the juicy details. This boy? Nothing.

Until a few moments ago, when he called to find out more. Evidently he's been thinking about that for 12 hours or so.

Why are straight men so fascinated by the girl on girl? Can someone please explain this phenomenon? I just don't get it.

(I said no, in case you were wondering. I didn't kiss a girl.)

Party pics

For those of you who've been waiting with breathless anticipation, here are some pics from last night. We had a really swell time, and I enjoyed getting to meet some new people and spend time with friends. The weird thing is, I didn't know any of these people until a few months ago.

This is Terri (the birthday girl), me and Stacey (my pal Shane's wife)



My friends from leadership class: Tony, Terri, me and Shane



After the party last night, we got back to LB's house and he said, "I hope you know how much I value your friendship." Well, that's pretty clear, I suppose. Just friends. I'm trying to get used to that.

Party preview

I'm headed out to the birthday party. It's a "white trash" theme... so here's my outfit. More pics later!



(You can't tell, but I"m wearing a zebra bra under that white shirt... classy!)



My awesome drag queen shoes