Readng...
My birthday cake, it said, "Holy Shit! I'm 30!" I was particularly amused that, with that nscription, they still put little, yellow roses on it! Receivng...
Giant vase of white roses and baby's breath from my mother. I never would've thought of white roses, because red is my favorite color, but with just the white and the green, it was a very elegant arrangement. In any case, it beats the hell out of the Over the Hill crap she threatened to send me. When I told her she couldn't send that because she's older, she said she'd have to put it n the Boy's name. Tny maps and travel goodies from Jen (she remembered that one reason I'm here is to be closer to the rest of the world), a journal with black pages and glitter pens from Tavia, Me: A Memoir by Brenda Ueland from Jennifer, Stevie Wonder's Innervisions from Jennifer, his Songs n the Key of Life from Ana, and a Coliseum bookstore gift certificate from Rob.
Late Tuesday night I came home to another card from my boss and one from Ana. I'm always impressed when people manage to send a card so it arrives on the actual birthday, but it's doubly impressive that Ana managed that feat from London! Scornng...
The 20 people who didn't bother to show up for my birthday -- the lame excuses, the claims that they were on their way and those who couldn't even be bothered to respond at all. Very bad form. It's not like it was just any dnner nvite or even my 27th or 31st birthdays. I'll only be turnng 30 once n this lifetime, thank goddess! Oh well, saves me a lot of needless effort and expense at Christmas time. So many dozens fewer cookies to bake.
Someone from IP# 198.4.83.49 who went through all my entries to cast negative Karma votes. Dude, what's your problem?! Mesmerizng...
The belly dancer -- shake it baby! Just when you thought she was gong to stop at the end of a song, she went on, more furiously than before. Intoxicatng...
The 5 Cosmopolitans I drank at Howard Johnson's and the huge Casablanca Cosmopolitan I had with dnner at Tagne.
|
|
|
 not dead, which is more than I can say for the woman n the next room. She passed away on Friday. I didn't know her well, she seemed a bit out of it when I'd see her n the halls and kitchen. She always brought a ton of bags with her to cook dnner. Now I feel knd of bad for thnkng her a bit odd. What I'd really like to know is how long was I sleepng 10 feet away from a corpse before they discovered her? I didn't notice the boxes n the hallway outside her room until I came home from my birthday party late on Tuesday night. Was she n there for 4 days? What a sad and lonely way to go. . . .As for the party, it was fun, but of the 20+ people nvited only 3 showed up, so we were charged a surprise $50 fee for the belly dancer after already givng her a $40 tip. Tavia said, apparently I wasn't feelng like a low enough grade of shit, so the owner had to come by the table and express her anger at me. Yeah, it was a prank I pulled on her and just the joy of my life that almost none of my so-called friends could be bothered to attend my 30th birthday party. The ownder claimed they had to turn down reservations because they were holdng a table for 10 for me all night, but ours weren't the only empty tables. Nor was our table the only one to fondle the belly dancer.  The lame ass excuses and glowerng restauranteurs sucked, but the the decor, the food and especially the belly dancer, were sumptuous. I bow down before the curvy, frenetic, uber-coordnated goddess that she was. Yummy! I also bow down before Jen and Tavia who were so supportive and fun and wonderful, but who had the class to only be visibly pissed at all the no-shows when I was away n the bathroom. They needn't've spared my feelngs, I was seethng as well. People keep callng and emailng and tryng to make me feel guilty for beng perturbed with them. If I hear, "Don't take it personally" one more time, as if standng me up on my birthday isn't entirely personal, I will scream. What a fuckng lot of nerve. I've heard every variation of pathetic illness, tiredness and had to work late that I can stand. Fuck them all -- I'm pissed regardless, because I never would have stood up anyone on their birthday. I went to a friend's party two weeks ago when I was sick, bleedng and had worked 13 hours. If I can go see your band play on East 13th Street, when I lived on West 192nd Street and worked 2 jobs, you can damn well put n a fuckng appearance at my party. If you live 8 blocks away, you can stop by and have a drnk. It's not like I scheduled it for midnight on a weeknight, for fucksake. It's not like I turn 30 everyday. This wasn't merely a casual after-work get together we could have any time. My birthday is when it is. Had I waited for the weekend, then the excuse would've been all the other thngs they had to do on the weekend.  It's also not like it takes long to get around Manhattan, I'd be much more understandng if people pooped out because we were n L.A. and they lived an hour out n the suburbs, but everyone works or lives here n Manhattan, if not both. I guess it's a relative sense of what is a lot of effort. I'll do anythng (withn reason) for a friend, but now I know I don't have nearly as many friends as I thought I did. Henceforth I won't be bothered with anyone who couldn't make the mnimal effort to show up or even just phone n their regrets (not sure exactly where that lne is gong to fall). This is why I haven't had an organized birthday party snce I was 13. I'm too old for this shit. The bottom lne is that there are certan thngs that are special and you just suck it up and thnk of the other person nstead of yourself, for a change. 
No regrets though. If people really want to be somewhere, they'll make it -- weekend, weekday, East Side, West Side, whatever. Those who didn't come are not only of dubious friendship, but really missed out.  P.S. My digital choked and wouldn't store the one picture of the belly dancer that wasn't too dark. I hope the ones on the disposable cameras came out.]
[Next entry: "Gettng Settled, Meetng the Neighbors"]
[Index] [archives] [bio] [Wish List]
|
