Rotten, stinkin' 44th Birthday

Yesterday was my 44th birthday.  It had a couple of high points (and by a couple, I mean two):

1. I went to a very nice lunch with my co-workers at a Thai restaurant.

2. Jennifer Lancaster Re-Tweeted my pre-birthday post 'cause I grovelled and begged her on Twitter and she is awesome and kind...and really, I was VERY happy about it...I got about a 2000% jump in page views for the day...and of course I screen saved the RT so I can look at it and cheer myself up when I'm down.  Believe me, I looked at this screen shot SEVERAL times during the remaining course of the day.

Of course, I knew it wasn't going down as the best birthday on record before it ever even got here.  My kiddo is away this week at cheer camp...this is the first birthday since she was born 17 years ago that she didn't spend with me.  We were both kinda bummed about it and decided that all of the major celebratory festivities would occur after she got back home.  So, no presents, no going out to dinner, etc. without her. (Jeff did give me a card that morning with a monkey on it...so there was that little bright spot in the day as well.)

But then I got to work and started feeling a little sorry for myself.  This was noticed immediately by my friend, Jenn...because usually, I am all about my birthday.  She's the one that suggested we go out to lunch...which I enjoyed until chunks of my car fell off in the street on our way back:

See that dangl-y thing?  That used to connect to my fog light...that empty socket there?  That's where my fog light used to be.
We were just motoring along when ca-chung...it felt/sounded like I had run over an elk.  I stopped and got out and found this lying in the street:

That's my fog light globe and the bracket that holds it.  See....my little sporty red Volvo has a downside...it is very, very close to the ground.  It's possible that I have, on occasion, pulled up too close to curbs and/or parking stops or blocks or whatever those concrete thingies are called.  Then, when backing up I've felt a scraaaaape.  Once or twice I popped the spoiler loose, but it always popped back in its clips.  I guess I had repeatedly stressed the fog-light-holder-bracket-ma-bob until one day (on my birthday) it decided to just fall off.  I gathered up the parts, went inside and called my Volvo dude.  The replacement kit?  Will be $159.99 (Remember, it didn't just fall off...it fell off and I ran over it).  Fine.  I told him to go ahead and order it. 

I went back to work and was diligently going about my business when Kate Middleton's vagina exploded all over my birthday.  Literally.  Below is the "Breaking News" on CNN.  I know they're royals and everyone was waiting on news that the little heir was all healthy and junk.  I guess I was just raised in a quieter, more reserved time when vaginas did not make headlines. (I imagine Her Royal Highness, Queen E flinched a bit as well about this one.)



W.C. Fields always said to never work with children or animals.  I could not agree more.  I have always kinda made a big deal out of being Queen myself on my birthday...now I'm being upstaged by Prince Whateverhisnameendsupbeing.  Ah, well, I guess 44 years was a pretty good run.

Finally, the work day finishes and I boogie on home, stopping by my Volvo guy's shop to drop off my mangled parts. (I do pause to speculate that after pushing out the little 8lb 6oz royal pot roast, Kate would probably be very willing to trade my mangled parts for hers.  $160 bucks seems a little easier to handle.)  Because I chose to go to a wonderful, spectacular (and a bit expensive) Sunday brunch the day before my birthday...and had postponed my birthday dinner until the daughter could come, my thoughtful hubby had suggested we cook something at home that we almost never have anymore.  Sloppy Joes and tater tots.  I know some of you are saying "Ewwwww!" but I love me some Manwich n' tots.  The kiddo can't even stand the smell of them cooking (the Sloppy Joes, not the tots) and will lurch around the house gagging every time we make them when she's home.  So, it doesn't happen often.

I get home and Jeff is industriously preparing the Sloppy Joe meat and has the tater tots a' toasting.  I've been looking forward to this all day.  This is comfort food to the extreme!  We even have the white, soft, no-nutritional-value-whatsoever buns!  I think Imma have to even throw a slice of Kraft American cheese on mine!  Jeff's whipping around the kitchen and the timer dings on the half-way mark for the tots.  He gets them out of the oven, gives them a good ol' stir (so they are evenly toasted and not burnt on one side and raw on the other).  He opens the oven and shoves them back in...with enough force to make 1/2 to 3/4 of the tots fly off the pan and into the bottom of the stove, where they start to blacken and burn:

Chaos ensues as he cuts off the oven and shoves the pan with the few remaining tots onto the counter and grabs some pot holders.  He tells me to hold open a trash bag while he grabs the tots out before they can set off the fire alarm.  I immediately bump my elbow into the pan on the counter and burn it.

All I wanted was some damn tots with my Sloppy Joes!  I've already had my thunder stolen by some kid on the other side of the world!  I've already suppressed tears about having to spend at least $200 (at least with labor) on my CAR for something that was completely my fault and 100% preventable!  And now THIS!  (As an added bonus, I get a text from the kid at camp and she's having boy drama.  UGH!)  I have a BLISTER on my freaking elbow and my tots are in the trash!

Jeff lets me have the few remaining tots and the Sloppy Joes are good (I did go with the cheese slice).  A few texts later and the kiddo assures me that she's fine and not too bereft.  And suddenly I am just too tired for words.  I marched myself upstairs, sprawled out on the bed and took a three hour nap.

45 has got to better...of course it doesn't have to live up to much after this one. (Jeff did go out at 9:20 after I groggily got up again and bought me a box of Twinkies. I love that man.)