Birthday Blaze of Glory

Yeah, okay, so somewhere in there May happened. And when I say it happened, I mean IT HAPPENED. The whole point of starting this blog, aside from the obvious case of narcissistic self-love (because I am just that fabulous), is that I am supposed to document the weirdly bizarre happenings in my corner of the ‘hood. So when MAY HAPPENED, in all its blaze of glory (literally), what else should go down but my computer decided it would rather take a dirt nap than be there to support me through my time of need. Bastard piece of Sony crappity crap crap.

So there I am with all this sarcasm and wit festering inside with nowhere to go. Just so you know, when you let sarcasm fester and rot, it kinda of gurgles and bubbles inside of you, like the indigestion you would get after an especially large meal of spicy curry, supreme bean burritos, and four-alarm chili all sprinkled with broccoli and asparagus. All you can think about is how you just need to expel all these snarky comments in a giant fart of innapropriateness. Sometimes it is really taxing being me.

May is usually a glorious month spent celebrating all sorts of wonderful things. My best friend’s birthday is the week before mine and she usually plans the best celebratory affairs—concerts, happy hours, dinner at the trendy places with ah-mazing food. She is single, kick butt at party planning and has really good taste (and if you happen to be a hot man mistakenly reading this blog because you googled #fart, call me. I’ll hook you up!). My plans of crochet parties, glass etching bashes and decoupage-fests usually pale in comparison, so I gave up years ago, content to ride her coattails of glory.

This year was no exception. It just so happened that Journey was making its annual pilgrimage to the Greater San Diego area and not only did I have tickets, I even had a babysitter lined up a month in advance. Now, parents just don’t line up a sitter all willy-nilly. Babysitting reservations–that shit signifies some serious commitment to the cause.

However, this year, my birthday totally decided to outshine anything dear Jen could have cooked up. And I mean literally outshine. For my birthday, instead of lighting a few piddley candles on a birthday cake, San Marcos lit the whole damn City on fire.

If you lean far enough out my window, you can roast a hotdog...

If you lean far enough out my window, you can roast a hotdog…

See that fiery hill. That’s two houses down the street. Directly on the other side of that hill is my work. Three quarters away around that hill is my kids’ daycare. Get the picture? And, yes, I realize that I have put all my damn eggs in one basket here, but it is so freakin’ convenient that I never have to leave a three-mile radius to do anything. My Circle of Laziness would be a lot smaller if they would just build a Target and Trader Joes in all that empty area. (I mean, c’mon, the fire cleared away any endangered species those tree-hugging killjoys could use to protest the expansion of all of that capitalistic splendor. Barbecued Fairy Shrimp anyone?)

And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire…the ring of fire

And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire…the ring of fire

So Happy Birthday to You, now get the hell out of your house for five days while all of San Diego burns down around you. With all of four minutes warning I raced from work, went the 1/4 mile around campus and got the kids picked up safely from school just as they were evacuating, while my husband grabbed the important stuff from home (fyi, his list of “important stuff” vastly differs from my list, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog).

Phew! We all made it out safe and sound to the sweet cha-ching! of people’s cell phone bills skyrocketing through the ceiling. Phone carriers everywhere rejoiced as the cash cow named Natural Disaster led to a frenzy of calls, texts, tweets, Instagrams and overage fees. I kid you not, I got better fire updates from Facebook than I did from any of the news channels in the area.

So top that “party”, Miss “I Hold Fabulous Events” Jen! While she partied the night away, downing endless beers to the live sound track of “Don’t Stop Believing”—pfft, boooring– San Marcos threw the world’s largest weenie roast in my honor. Woot woot! Next year I am bringing the marshmallows!

 

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