whining is more fun when you look ridiculously good

I am thinking of just dedicating this blog strictly to birthdays. Apparently, most of the people I know were, well, born at some point. And evidently, I know a lot of them. And clearly, though I have lost yet another set of keys and can't remember which last name I am using these days, I can't manage to forget a single birthday.

Go ahead, scroll back through the archives. There's an assload of birthday posts.

It's not that I don't have anything else to say, I just like the birthday posts. Why bother being all in love with people if you can't put your finger on exactly what is is you love? In addition to the birthday posts, I have this habit of compiling soundtracks for all of my big relationships. Like Molly. Her soundtrack rocks. Tim the old boyfriend has a soundtrack that would bring you to your knees. Scott, the old old boyfriend, actually received his soundtrack in the mail a few years ago. It was 3 CD's long. Scott and one other person are the only two to have ever heard theirs. The rest just live in my head. Like N, who starts off with The Roots and goes from there.

Point is, I like the people I like and I like remembering why I like them. Sometimes they get a paragraph on the Internet, sometimes they get a file in WMP.

The real point is that I have loads to say, I just don't much feel like saying it these days. I think I have hit the point where I am all done pretending how great things are and I just want to have a great big fat temper tantrum because I am freaking sick and tired of waking up with the kids every day and not being able to meet friends out for happy hour and I seriously need a real job and no one should live in a house with 8 people in the basement in the office where the one computer is that people seem to feel the need to use until midnight even though my bed is 1 1/2 feet away and if I don't get laid soon someone may get hurt and did I ever mention that I hate dogs especially dogs that poop all over the house the second their mom leaves?

See, I am all Eeyore these days and the birthday posts, well, they make me happy. Maybe I could charge people $5 a pop and say something devastatingly beautiful about them on their birthdays. That would be a really fun job. At least until I ran out of adjectives.

On a side note: I had a killer hair day. That is by far the girliest thing I have ever said, but it's true. Killer. Hair. Day. Those days be my favorite days.