Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Waking up at 1 p.m. with a serious sugar hangover is a bitch. My head is throbbing and I turn over only to get blasted by the sneakiest of the midday sun's rays that slip between the slats of my window shades. And I'm alone. The house is empty and I realize that not since last summer when I first starting writing to you had I stolen away an entire day of silence and solitude.

The little things start to creep into that front part of your brain when you're finally all alone. You start to realize how little you've actually accomplished in the last year. And that your birthday is a day away. The only relief is that this year it doesn't fall on mother's day, a sure way to ruin any semblance of a normal and happy birthday. There are cupcakes form the girl roommate waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I come back home from the remaining 7 hours of daylight errands. She doesn't live here any more but she dropped them by. Half way into my the second vanilla-frosted cupcake I'm setting myself up nicely to hit the evening sugar high when I realize that these cupcakes are the first thing anyone besides a family member or a girlfriend has given me or done for me in a long time. And I get a warm tingly feeling in my stomach. Might be happiness. Might be sugar.

Catering company I part-time for says they're going to be sad to see me go this summer. They told me they would pay me more money than I'd be making out there. But of course, they know I'm not leaving them for the money. You think I'd be in the journalism school if it was all for the money? I'd be a business major toiling away to end up in some middle-management position for the next 50 years. I told the catering bosses I would never have gotten this job without them. Working for them and another catering company since high school taught me how to put a big smile on my face and listen attentively to people no matter what kind of shitty mood I am in. No matter how much I might want to pour the wine bottle on the bride's dress just to change it up a bit and get kicked out before the DJ cranks up YMCA or Celebration. Then the sorority taught me how to walk into a room full of pretty girls without even a twinge of the nerves. I've been training all my life for this job in LA and I didn't even know it.

The best birthday present this week isn't that my car is back with a brand new front end or the drinks I'll buy for myself and my friends to come over and drink tomorrow or the clothes I'm going to have to buy to make myself presentable at work every day this summer. The best presents this week are two Gmail's that I got from some of you. There's millions of idiots babbling all over the internet and they want to tell you about their politics and their ideals and their newly invented sexual positions and the girls that ruined their life and their new computer games.

And somehow you waded through all that to get here and read this. And if that's not enough you might even like it. And some of you are nice enough to tell me you like it. Somehow my little version of the truth makes you smile or it makes you reminisce or it makes you mad or it makes you think or it makes you dream or it makes you vomit. It doesn't' matter if there are ten people reading this or ten thousand, one person's encouragement is enough to keep me going. Thanks for the awesome birthday present. Just don't start thinking that I owe you one.


Blogger Mo said...

rock on.

11:58 AM  
Blogger Sylkk said...

Happy birthday ~

12:10 PM  

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