Birthday Eve

I know there is really no such thing as "birthday eve" in the normal world, but this is katieland where anything goes.

If someone were reading this blog and seeing what a big deal I am making about my birthday they might think I am a little obsessed or crazy, but you have to understand where I'm coming from.  Birthdays at my house are a HUGE deal.  The day starts out with birthday pancakes.  This means that my dad makes a towering stack of dinner plate sized pancakes.  My mom puts candles in the stack, lights them, is joined by the rest of my family singing happy birthday, and then slices the pancakes into wedges like a normal cake.  This is a really important tradition.  In march I drove over to Utah so that I could make my sister birthday pancakes for her birthday.  Its that big of a deal.  All day long the phone is ringing off the hook from my aunt and grandma calling about every hour to sing happy birthday to me.  We go out to dinner, and then usually have a big party.  Every single year of my life (except when I've been away from home) I've had a pinata filled with candy and treats.  Even into high school.  This being my "Golden Birthday" they've already started the celebration.  Last Friday my aunt started calling and wishing me a happy birthday week.  My grandma called from Alaska, even though she doesn't get reception and all I heard was static and every 9th word.  My mom called this morning and left me a voice mail wishing me happy birthday.  Now you understand why I am a little obsessed.

Yesterday I got stood up for my last fiddling lesson. I was way bummed.  I had practiced really hard and was totally ready for a great last lesson.  I gathered my fiddle, tapes, and antiquated tape recorder in my excited hands and made my way to her door.  As I glanced into her slightly translucent window I caught a glimpse that confused me.  Every other week the student before me was a 30 something guy who looked like he could work at inateck as a computer programmer.  Today as I peered in for a closer look it was a 40 something housewife looking woman who was playing a cello.  Curious?  I stood before the door for a minute and then decided to knock and walk in.  I was greeted by my teacher's roommate (who I had heard crazy stories about).  She informed me that my teacher was out of town and apologized for the miscommunication.  I turned around dejectedly.  I felt hurt, rejected, forgotten. (not really, this is just me taking some literary liberty to make the story better).

I hopped back in my car and raced home.  I was planning on leaving straight from my lesson to meet Sarah and Michele in Denver to go to a comedy show.  Getting my lesson cancelled afforded me a solid 30 minutes to nap.  This week has been the "stay up WAY too late, realize you are really cool and have a great social life, but pay for it with a splitting headache in the morning" week.

While I was napping my friend Calvin called to wish me a happy birthday.  I was floored that he even remembered it.  My first reaction was to try to figure out how who had reminded him about it.  I thought there was no way he would just remember on his own.  I tried to think up elaborate ways he could have talked to someone who talked to someone else who told him not to forget.  Then I realized I was being retarded and just gave him the benefit of the doubt that he actually remembered on his own and actually cared about me.  That made me feel much better.

I drove down to Denver and met up with Sarah and Michele.  The comedy show was really funny and I had a great time hanging out with both of them.  They are the type of girls who are just fun to hang out with.  They never say mean catty things about other people, they are smart and can hold an interesting conversation, they don't dominate and talk about themselves, and they can tell a great story.  Just good people.

I didn't get home until late...Again.  Now my head is pounding and I am wondering how long I can last at work.  My friends are taking me out for lunch at 11:30. I'm sure I can make it until then.