Guess what will happen in one month and a day?

I will turn old balls.  Or 30.  Yes, after bitching about it for years, it's actually happening.  Fortunately, I can cross one of my before 30 life goals off the list, being an unmarried single mother.  Woot!  I did want to have a baby when it was probably healthier for me, so I'm glad I got babe #1 knocked out before the big 3-0.  Other than that...  well, I have an adult job.  For now.  And adult debt.  So there's that.  And now, for the gifties.  Again, K is not a holiday/birthday person, so I won't be getting anything from him and I think when you're 30 and have your own offspring your parents can cut you off and since I'm poor, this will be a lean, mean (read nonexistent) dirty 30.  But that's ok.  Instead, I will daydream aloud...

Dyson vacuum - yes, when you get old, you want boring shit for your house.

Duvet cover - same one, but now $49!  I might actually go for this...


Tom's coral canvas wedges - don't know why, but I'm digging these.  I imagine them with striped shirts, skinny jeans and statement necklaces, none of which I should be wearing.


New pillows for the eyesore of a sectional that lives in my living room - I can't get rid of the couch due to budget restraints (more accurately, K loves the thing), but I could replace the sad pillows from years ago with brighter ones that make more sense with my undecor.

Nursing friendly dress - I don't foresee the pumping ending anytime soon, so my wardrobe has been severely altered.  This little number would conceal the lopsided boobage and allow for access.

A night in luxury - silly, as this is fleeting, but the idea of a well appointed bed, room service potential, within walking distance of an excellent bar that serves well mixed Hendricks and tonics... heaven.  The problem is I'd still have to pump all night and/or miss H too much to actually enjoy.  (They have cribs!)


Lululemon Groove pants - yup, I still want them.  And also the Bliss tank.  Could hold in the girls and cover the flab.  Win.

Jo Malone Orange Blossom Cologne - I'm obsessed with smelling good, but I kind of always smell bad.  Perfume just doesn't stick to me.  Also, now I smell like maple syrup thanks to the fenugreek I guzzle by the handful to boost milk supply.  Marry me!

Ittikid wardrobe for H-man - love.these.prints.  H needs them all. Especially the elephants.

KitchenAid Pro Mixer - yeah, I still need this.

Aveda spa treatments - nothing really removes the telltale sign of being a new mom (stringy, clumpy hair; sad, sunken eyes; terrible wardrobe choices; wan, sallow skin; I could go on), but getting some help from professionals would be nice.

So, there's my super selfish, completely unrealistic wishlist for the beginning of my downhill slide.  But really, I've got my healthy tiny buddy, my needy stinky puppy, my partner in crime (sometimes literally), my fam and friends, so, it's all good.

So, I turned 29 and all that shit.

Yup. Last week. The night before, the BF told me that he'd gotten us a hotel room in town for a night of luxury because my favorite thing to do is bitch about the poor quality of our mattress while refusing to do anything sensible about it, like, oh, purchase a new one. Because then what would I blame my intrinsic lethargy on, myself? No. Anyway, hotel room, yay! (Forgetting to make arrangements for dog, not so yay. So, Zeb came with us.) I was happy to fall asleep old and wake up older without back pain and with free breakfast! Woot!

I spent the rest of the day lazing about at home as I took the day off from work (we're not really allowed time in August since it's the start of the semester, so I played the birthday card) and went to dinner with the fam at Cheesecake Factory, a totally out of character choice for myself, but I dunno, it's what I wanted.

Which leads me to this terrible revelation. I have eaten out for eight (8) consecutive meals. At restaurants. Like full blown meals. There are several reasons for this, last four day work week Wednesday lunch celebration, pre-birthday dinner, all day birthday gluttony, and then the unexpected day trip (not good reasons, more on this later) which resulted in another all day eating binge. All of this leads me to this. I need these.

Well, it's official. Life is kind of sucking balls right now.

Work is simply out of control. So many things I neither can nor should enumerate, but needless to say, I'm committed to exploring other employment opportunities. Pretty much anywhere. Pretty much either in higher education human resources (specifically benefits administration) or general kickassedness. I keep waiting to get a book deal like every other blogger out there, but alas, no dice.

It's about 100 degrees here daily + 1000% humidity which leaves everyone sweaty zombies. Thank the lord for central air, but even that doesn't zap the sapping nature of excessive heat (They keep saying that on the news - excessive compared to what? It's Oklahoma in July. Duh.). To keep my brain and body cool, I've been holing up under the vents perusing blogs with people who have their shit together. I want to be one of those people. I just want to get my poops in a group. It's not that bad, I just think (hope) it could be better. It being my sense of accomplishment when compared to an imaginary bar contrived by me, which is never a good thing.

Right, so, I've been reading Hither and Thither from start to finish. It's lovely and inspirational and confirms my contention that a regular brunch can cure anything. Unfortunately, there's literally nowhere to brunch that's worth a damn in Norman.

keeping it all in perspective

Disclaimer - I'm sure none of these feelings have anything to do with the fact that I turn the big 2-9 in mere weeks. It's totally cool that I've accomplished very little aside from a sizable collection of sale shoes in my 29 years. I've still got all of next year to tick off the things I'd planned before 30... house, real, actual vacation, permanent partner in crime, iPhone, six months of savings, my last killer hangover, twice daily flossing, the ability to tell my family no, etc.

Great story as for me.

November is known for its holiday, no? Not t-day, but Liz day. Mom declares the entire month her birthday month. Basically, she just talks about how it's her birthday month and none of us do anything until her actual birthday, which happened to be yesterday. The family (plus my lil bro's GF and my BF) gathered at her favorite restaurant in town (which also happens to arguably be the nicest restaurant in town) to commemorate her umpteenth 35th birthday. [Brief back story: my brother worked at this restaurant for three years or so and knows most people who still work there, including the bartender, which also happens to be the youngest brother of L-Ma.]

While awaiting our entrees, we decided to think of the most awful drink one could order to be jerks. Dad busts out his iPhone and finds an article that says Manhattans, cosmopolitans, mojitos and lemon drops are the worst, but the BF pipes up that maybe we should order a Cleveland steamer. I had a personal record scratch moment, but everyone else just kept talking. About Cleveland steamers. Because they had no idea what they were saying. Until Dad looked it up. But not before practically screaming Cleveland steamer several times within earshot of small children (not that they would know, but kids sure do grow up fast these days). Soon, Dad is showing Mom the definition from Urban Dictionary on his iPhone. They're both laughing and Dad is compelled to mention dirty Sanchez.

SWEET JEBUS! Who are these people?

I'm not sure if the BF was trying to find a way to embarrass me or my family into ending things or what.

Goodnight, Sunday.

Yesterday, I was watching TV on the local NBC affiliate when Linda Cavaneck started talking about some sort of supermarket sweepstakes thing. Not sure what the rules are, but you could win either a $200 gift card or a grocery grab shopping spree! Whee! So, I started thinking, what's the best strategy for one of those things? As if I would win. Anyway, I decided I'd hit up the spices aisle, rake all of the olive oils and expensive vinegars into my cart, grab up all of the nuts, hit the specialty cheese case and then sprint over to the health and beauty section to stock up on razors (they're fucking expensive and only four blades, nothing like these bad boys) and then snatch up all of the Excedrin I can find. The whole scenario would be choreographed to mimic the season five, episode four of Designing Women, "Miss Trial", where Julia serves on a retarded jury, but more aptly, Charlene wins a free for all shopping spree at a record store and invites Suzanne to be her partner. Pastel sweatsuits are deployed. Brill.

Love you ladies!

And that's what I'm thinking about this Sunday evening.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Zooey Deschanel is hot and talented, so I hate her edition.

She and Him's rendition of The Smiths "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" is pretty good, unless you are a senseless hater of Zooey and co. Maybe it's because my birthday is coming up and I feel super old because I want a Kitchenaid mixer and super lame because I'm this old and can't afford it. Or maybe it's the haunting, heartbreaking, unfettered lyrics that express better than any song I've heard lately what we all want.

She and Him - Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want

It's Veterans Day!

And you know what that means. Actually, you don't. Because today is the 2X anniversary of the exbf's expulsion from his momsters uterus. He's managed to wish me a happy birthday via text or email over the last two years, so I've determined it's time to take it up a notch, now that my heart has gone from robot to slightly less robot status. Here's what I'm thinking:

Fine. I will just send an email.

To Shain:

Starting with this one.

Love,

Blythe

Cringesday on a Monday: Birthday that never ends edition!

Hey everybody, come and see how good I look! -- Ron Burgundy

I've never really been on the receiving end of a digital gift before, but this year, I got four! I will share three with you because one was deeply personal and quite filthy. One is cringe-worthy, one is a direct Cringesday contribution, and one is, well, I need your help with the last thing.

* Click here for more. You'll have to download it (it's a power point). This is as blog savvy as I get and I had to have help.

* Click here only if you want to ROTLFLMAO like a LOTR NAACP AARP CBS. Siobhlogger's outdone herself. Cringesday GOLD! Here is a preview.


* This was sent to me by someone that I don't know all that well, yet he somehow managed to distill my entire personality into 30 seconds and some graphics. So, do I marry him or file a restraining order because he's clearly stalking me? Which is sexy, of course.

So, uh, about that...

As you might or might not know, yesterday was the day I turned the big 2-6. I spent the day doing boring shit (e.g. making fried tofu, reading my Mao biography, staring at the Sunday Times thinking about how I should read it but then getting bored with myself for thinking about that) then napped like I've never napped before. Epic drool. It was lovely. Then, I put on a dress (I know, big time for the Bee-Spot!) and used my new crease brush to make myself look like I got punched in the eyes in an effort to look "sexy." I think I ended up looking methy - which is close. Finally, Lacey and I were ready to head out for a lavish dinner. And boy, was it lavish. Our darling waiter hooked us up with some lovely blueish martinis that Lacey drank two of - big deal time! We feasted on lobster, crab cakes, spinach and wedge salads, then I got the salmon and L got the filet. Our sides were sauteed corn and creamed spinach. And creamed pants. So effing good I wanted to kill myself! But I didn't. Next I was off to The Deli where I was serenaded by my favorite song, "My Ho Drives A Big Red Car," which was thoughtfully requested especially for me. Thanks. I then proceeded to drink my weight in Pacifico. I hippie danced like a tard. I got hippie hugged by a sweaty (but hot) dreadlocked chick with a fake British acccent. I peed 800 million times and made best friends in the bathroom. L and I took shitty pictures. I ran into an old high school friendish whom I hadn't seen in forever. I screamed along to "Level" (Raconteurs) all the way home. Speaking of home, I made it back with my earrings, underwear and whatever modicum of dignity I have left in general. And that's when it happened. C-tina promised me a slide show of a gift (yes, we are weird like that and more than likely, you'll see it on Wednesday) so I hopped online. Let me just say, milk was a bad choice. Old high school friendish had aready Facebooked me, so natch I replied to his message. I'm afraid to even look. I emailed C-tina in response to the HI-LARIOUS and touching slide show she made me with completely nonsensical ramblings. I commented on some blogs... so, uh Dan, the wedding's probably off now, huh. Do we have to return the gifts? I responded to some blogger emails - I have no idea what I said and am afraid to find out. Also, I sent some spectacular text messages to people I barely know (I am praying to the God I don't believe in that I didn't respond unkindly to the ex's text). Love me! My head is a cement mixer, but other than that, not too bad. The best gift of all was the gift of lateness this morning. I got to come in at nine! In closing, thanks for all of the b-day wishes, gifts, texts, calls, etc. Y'all are the best. Except you, Shain since you just called me an old lush. 26 is the new awesome.

Is this a Cringesday picture? No. This is why I hate having my picture taken. Ugh city. However, it was at least 12am and I was full of beer and stupid by then.

Coming up: pictures and Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday. I'm going to feel really bad if I find out that Zack's really dead.

Baby wants a corndog* (or I am getting depressed by impending birthday).

Admittedly, I am totally psycho when it comes to my birthday. Nuts to the max. Thing is, it's not like I did anything on my birthday, it was my mother (God bless her) who spent 23 hours in labor to pop me out while watching and rewatching a video tape (probably beta) of Princess Di's wedding (priorities). Still, I am always hellbent on having the best birthday day (actual day is Sunday) ever (perhaps to make up for all of the shit days throughout the year or to quell my abandonment issues - I don't know, I'll ask therapist next week - ha! the only therapist I can afford comes in a can with a lovely blue ribbon on it), but it always verges on turning disastrous. I need elaborate cakes with marzipan figurines, 12 course dinners with a proposal, the biggest Barbie dream house made, purple Huffy, the coolest slumber party of all of 5th grade, etc. It's a sickness and generally very out of character. This year, in the face of my 26th, I am putting the kibosh on any expectations. Lacey and I are going to a fancy schmancy place where we will wear dresses and heels, swill expensive wine, and gaze longingly into each other's (lonely) eyes while unsexily mispronouncing menu items. No parties. No gifts. And certainly, no boys. In spite of all of the self help books I've read (coincidentally, they also come in cans with blue ribbons), being in a relationship on the big day is how I'd prefer it. Your parents have to care because they paid for you, your friends have to care because of the guilt, but your bf/gf doesn't have to - they can cut out anytime, but there they are, caring about your birth, you know? If you are going to send me a gift, might I suggest litter boxes for all the cats I will undoubtedly begin collecting as an old maid? Also, maybe something to collect all the clichés, too.

Also, the b-day is depressing because it marks another year of things I meant to do, but didn't (oh please, you are no better than me in this endeavor - don't even pretend). Well, things are going to be different this year. I vow to think about doing the following:

1. Karaoke more (by more, I mean at all, it's been far too long, perhaps for good reason, but that's pure speculation). I am horrible, yet I love it so. I mean, like painfully bad, but only because I think I'm 43% good. I'm that girl.

2. See Andrew Bird in concert. And Cold War Kids. And Feist. And make out with Craig Finn in my mind at The Hold Steady.

3. Find my signature cocktail. I have tried the sidecar, vodka tonic and Manhattan, but no luck so far. I do enjoy Hendrick's and tonic, but that's so someone else's drink. I can't survive on Pabst for the rest of my life. Or can I?

4. Learn to play the banjo.

5. Implement operation Boyfriend07. It's time. My disabled robot heart isn't getting any younger, so you know, hop to it lady.

6. NYC fall break trip - we're soooo going, Shain. You can meet my New York Boyfriend! We'll eat pancakes with G-race!

7. Get my NES to work so I can play some Zelda.

8. Not suck.

(Me, in case you can't tell.)
+

(Cake I wish I was getting, but stupid Jackson got it instead.)

=



(Eternally single Cathy, my hero. Oh, she finally got married or died? Hmm.)

*Obvs, I will end up at The Deli Sunday night. Buy me a red cup or else (and a menthol cigarette)! No, don't. It's never a good idea to feed the bears.