Really, in many ways, yesterday was a lovely birthday, except for how I hate everything.
On Tuesday night, Ned and I went to the movies, and then we came back here and hung with my dogs and finally back to Ned's to sleep, so I could wake up with Ned on my birthday. Ned gets up at some ungodly hour, and wakes me up at a normal time, like 7:00. Sometimes he'll leap on the bed, all perky, and start kissing me and saying, "How are you? How's your day going so far?" when I've been awake 24 seconds. These are the times I slap the top of his head to hit snooze.
The point is, on the other side of Ned's wall used to be this old man who was delightful and charming and thankfully for all of us, deaf as a post. Sadly, he died, as old people do, and these two hoodlums moved in. Okay, they're not remotely hoodlums but they're young and one of them's surly.
When we got to Ned's room on Tuesday night, they were playing music (those kids today and their rap music) really loudly. It was 11:00 at night.
Ned pounded on the wall, but in a polite, Southern way. "Oh, please," I said, and POUND POUND POUNDED.
"Hey, heyyyyy!" said Ned, alarmed because he'd rather die than be impolite.
The point is, our pounds were futile, as it turns out NO ONE WAS HOME. Ned was over there angrily banging on the door at nearly 2:00, politeness gone, when Surly came home. "Oh, is there a problem?" he asked. Ned said he told him he'd left his music on and also, "gave him a very long glare."
Sometimes I think I should be dating a New Yorker.
So I slept approximately 19 seconds.
When I got to work, feeling fantastic and ready to take on the day, I had a cute balloon taped to my computer, and some cards, and a container of dark-chocolate-covered almonds from one of the Alexes.
A bunch of my coworkers also took me out to lunch–there's one of the Bitchy Resting Face Alexes trying to cockblock my photo. That's British Alex with the hippie purse, there, and Ryan who you all lusted over in the light blue shirt near the truck. My boss has on the hat. When did I get large schoolmarm arms? Oh, I hate being 49.
Anyway, we went to the food trucks and to a little concert in the park, and believe it or not it was an absolutely beautiful day here. It was in the high 70s and breezy, which never happens here.
I had other little gifts from coworkers when I returned to my desk, and why does anyone like me? Well, GOD doesn't, as you'll soon see. I was exhausted and sugar crashing at 5:00, but Ned and I were very excited to see a house up for rent.
Built in 1905, Victorian, great neighborhood, 2,500 square feet, and pretty inexpensive. Oh, we were beside ourselves. Then we got there, and everything in the house is original (doorknobs, all the wood, the floor, even some of the lights!) except the plumbing and wiring has been updated. So, perfect. Huge fenced yard. Five fireplaces. Sleeping porch. We kept giving each other the giant eyes look every time the woman turned around. We were like, Let us throw all our money at you right now and we'll move in tonight.
It was all we could do to stay calm as we stood in front of the cute park across the street asking her questions. Then she said, "Another couple looked at it today, so I'll call you if they don't want it."
As she walked away, Ned said. "Son of a BITCH. There's no way that other stupid asshole couple doesn't want it." We hated them on principle.
"Maybe they want something contemporary," I offered.
"Yes, that's why they made the appointment to see the Victorian, June. You want your flowers now? They're in my car. They're creepy."
"Wow, I can hardly wait. Why're they creepy?"
I like white flowers. I love a whole white arrangement, but Ned said he felt like he was buying flowers for a dead person, like it was his last dance with Mary Jane.
I told Ned I absolutely had to nap before our festivities, and when I awoke I had a bit of a migraine. Messed-up sleep is a trigger for me. I looked for my meds, and?
Gone. They're gone. I KILLED MYSELF to get to Target June 30, because my insurance starts all over again July 1, and I got 8 migraine pills for $3, and now that my deductible starts all over again they'll be, like, $300. This whole house has been in disarray with the painting and so on, and the pills come in this stupid plastic baggie like I'm buying drugs, which I am, and anyway I must have thrown them out.
When Ned got to my house, my mood was sparkling. I had called the pharmacy and they sold me one pill for $99,323,890, and Ned picked it up for me while I crabbily got dressed. We'd planned to go to this really nice restaurant but by then it was 8:00, so we said screw it and had pizza.
Ned gave me this really pretty necklace, and it's the third or fourth piece of jewelry he's given me, and I note he does this when he gives you something he picked out himself. "Do you really like it? Do you? You don't have to like it. You can return it. Are you sure you like it?" and so on until you club him and he stops wriggling.
I do love my necklace. Ignore the initial K. I have no idea what that stands for.
We went to the pizza place, and it was 8:00 on a fucking Wednesday and completely packed, and even had two tables full of people laughing as loudly as possible. Lemme tell you something. Go ahead and be joyous and enjoy the fuck out your life and your friends, but shut the fuck up about it. Am going to embroider that on a pillow.
At this point I'd eaten nothing but sugar since noon and to say I was hungry was, you know, whatever. I was hungry as shit.
We decided fuck it, we'll eat at the bar, and we got up there, bored our eyes into the beleaguered bartender till she noticed us, placed our order, got water and
I spilled everywhere. All over myself, all over the poor woman next to me who was dressed in cell phones and gremlins so she was not appreciative. Everywhere. All over.
Then we got the call from the woman saying the other couple was taking the house.
Dejectedly, we came home to let my dogs out then headed to Ned's. As soon as I got there, I realized I had no contacts at his house.
"OH SON OF A BITCH," I groused. Ned told me to go in, put on my pajamas, he'd get Bravo on the TV, then go to my house and get some glasses.
"You don't even know which are real glasses and which are reading glasses," I said, crabbier than I was the time I had to invite the neighborhood loser to my sleepover for my 11th bday. And she was a jerk ALL NIGHT, by the way.
"I'll put on the glasses. If I I can't see through them, they're real glasses."
So that pretty much ended my birthday, in which everything went wrong other than I have a Ned. I think I was asleep by the time Ned returned, and so far I'm really enjoying age 49.