Owling Birthday

Last weekend was my birthday dinner. As I journeyed home, i suppose i should have known the night would be weird seeing as on my way home there was a clearence sale at the gun store; nonetheless i carried on. My house is a cross between a murderer's paradise and a place that would be perfect for growing weed. The point is it's in the middle of nowhere and if things didn't go well and my parents got me more airplane booze no one could hear them scream as i quietly beat them with small bottles. The evening started off normal enough-my parents have become mildly obsessed with happy hour (and, oddly enough, biscotti) and so we had libations and cheese. We talked of this and that, despite the fact that i was in close-to-paralyzing fear about what was wrapped in cartoon paper sitting in the living room.

For some reason my mother thought it wise to drink to my 22 years as well as my father's new change as he slipped out of the working class and into a life of leisure (and if he has his way, gleefully making weather vanes for all those who need to know where the wind blows). The house was filled with things from his office cubical: a 900-pound coat rack he black smithed, and signs from homeless people that he decided he should collect. It occured to me that my father's cubical could have been on hoarders, and i was happy if i could get out of the house without inheriting any of his bum sign collection.

Anyway somehow we got on the subject of owl calls, yes that was not a typo, there may have been some wine from my father ex-colege. My mother, an avid bird observer, swore that the way to remember a great horned owl was from its distinctive call "who cooks for you you you". My father, whose commuting partner was a professional owl caller, told him a different story.

And so my birthday dinner was spent with my father hooting over and over and my mother on the verge of divorce. My sister, the diplomat that she is, googled the owl call and we found that my father's very convincing owl call was indeed the correct one.

Not only was this issue put to bed but i realized that my mother had been lying to me all these years and when we had hunted for an owl that only seem to appear in our chicken coop for a good nibble, we were hunting in vain. In the end i received pillow cases, no booze, travel-size or otherwise, and somehow that 6,000 pound coat rack is in my car. I did learn some lessons, my loveable literary, and that is that one should always ask for things for one's birthday, that alcohol and bird calls do not mix, and that i wish i made this up.

Birthday Blunders

Today is my 22 birthday (i know, so much humor and intelligence in one so young and beautiful). I realize that after the big 2-1 there is very little to look forward to in the coming years besides a crisis or two and social security, and let's face we have good anti-psychotics and social security is a dream we will never realize, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, the point is, there's not a lot going on. I have learned, however, that there a few things that start to happen on and around one's birthday once they begin to enter their third decade. That being said, i will now share with you some insights into my date-of-birth dilemmas...

1. Date: now that i have left the nest my birthday falls on a time when normally, in my nomadic existence, i have moved. This leads to me asking for strange and useful things for my birthday such as light bulbs and extension cords. While this gift is well received in the moment, it doesn't leave you with much.

2. Presents: for some reason as you get older it becomes harder and harder to find items that you need or want. This is not to say that they do not exist, but on the month that is your birthday somehow everything leaves your head and you become almost un-American in your lack of desire for material goods. That being said, it is time to tell you a tale of the past about this strange phenomenon and how my parents chose to deal with it with regards to their eldest daughter.

For my 21st birthday i could not come up with things for my parents to get me. This is not a new occurrence for me, but nonetheless my parents chose to deal with it in a unconventional manner. A few days before we celebrated my glorious birth my parents had cleaned out the pantry. I, however, was unaware of this fact and was delighted to see 20 or so presents waiting for me. As i proceeded to open each small individual present i was more and more surprised by its content. I had managed to acquire 10 bottles of airplane/minibar-sized alcoholic beverages that appeared to have survived Prohibition. In addition, i also received a onion-shaped bottle opener that may or may not have been a gift at my parents' wedding, and last but certainly not least, a jug of wine. Not only was this jug of wine in a jug that is no longer manufactured, it was also from when my father was in college. This jug had seen both Bushes as president, it also had content that could be used to removed battery acid.

To conclude, i haven't ask for anything again this year and i fear the result, stay tuned.

Regretfully Remiss

As you may have noticed, i have been neglect in my duties to bring you my important thoughts. I apologize to the ten people that it affected and thought that i would give you an update as to what is happening in my life at the moment:

1. Moving - i have now officially moved to the big city. There have been many amendments to the country-bumkin-hillbilly lifestyle from which i was raised and so far there has not been anything too awkward

2. Neighbors - i was so happy to learn that the people that live below me are aspiring rappers. Every night i have the privilege, no let's say the pleasure, of listening to them warble on about whatever middle class white people discuss in the form of rap, ice ice baby?

3. Movies - this is a twofold experience. First, i went to see the Help, and all i wanted before my dose of period racism was some good previews. However, after the 5 minutes of previews i was overwhelmed with the urge to be anything other than human so that i would not be lumped in with the moderately brain dead people that are going to watch these movies. And so i pose this question to the world: how many movies does one need about a very special horse, or people beating the crap out of each other? We have Black Beauty, Secretariat and Mr Ed (even though they have yet to see the feature-length possibilities therein) so check on the equine movies. Then there is some strange need to watch aging actors sweat, overcome difficulty and pummel each other multiple times over a number of decades. that seems a bit much, even if the new twist is brother vs brother, just go into any self-respecting American family with a bunch of kids and you can see this very movie, maybe a light version as they won’t be big men yet, but nonetheless it is the same plot. 

Then, as if i wasn't punished enough, i found myself at the movies yet again watching the uplifting and comical Contagion. Before i begin, let me just say that everything is probably a moot point because very soon we will all die. Also STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING. And since it is flu season you are going to thank me for this gentle reminder… By the time i went to see this movie my apartment was all furnished so all i had to do was stop and get 100 cans of soup, and all the antibacterial hand wash there was in the store,  and i'm in for the decade.

And so, my valiant viewer, i apologize and will now be giving you a more frequent does of epic sarcasm.