So my birthday is in four days. Birthdays started to officially depress me about ten years ago . . . maybe longer ago than that, actually. I really can’t see the point in celebrating birthdays anymore because it’s just like a count down ’til doomsday, ya know? I mean when I was younger, each birthday felt like a step toward that magical time in your life when you’ve got it all figured out and life is pretty stellar. I’ve come to the conclusion that either:
A. There is no such stage where you have it all figured out . . .
or
B. I DO have it all figured out and I’m not happy with the answer I’ve come up with . . . which is more likely.
The only thing that birthdays are any good for at this age are to eat ridiculous amounts of cake . . . (stop judging) and to petition for birthday gifts that I know I have no chance of getting. I’ve come up with some pretty ridiculous lists in the past and this year’s list is no less stupidly unrealistic. So while you read this, get on the phone with the local bakery and get that cake ordered. I’ve got to have some way to soothe my aching heart when I don’t get what I want (shameless attempt to make you feel guilty).
Trip to Door County
About ten hours from here there is a lovely peninsula of land that sticks out in between Green Bay and Lake Michigan. I love it there. It’s the Cape Cod of the Midwest. Tiny towns dot the shores of the bay and the lake and are filled with shopping, marinas and terrific restaurants. In between these towns is largely unpopulated rural area that is largely unpopulated because during the winter its abysmally cold up there. A few years ago, I decided that I was moving to Door County. I still live under this delusion today. Never mind that there are no JOBS up there unless you like scaling fish or working in the hospitality industry as a maid named Guadalupe . The rest of my delusion is that I’m going to live in a charming house on a bluff that overlooks Green Bay (the bay, not the town) where I can happily fly my Packers flag and have people who mow my lawn. For my part, I will write books which I’m paid a ridiculous amount of money while I’m not taking blindingly beautiful pictures of expensive weddings and rich families that visit the peninsula. Tom will work in Green Bay at some university there and have his paycheck direct deposited so that I can pay our “people” to take care of our “business.” I’ll lounge around in my pajamas all day, drink coffee, and pontificate in my blog about important issues like the unnecessary existence of guard geese. If you choose to provide this fabulous gift for my birthday, don’t bother to put a bow on it. Oh, and if you can’t swing the house on the bluff . . . then I’ll settle for a weekend trip and I like to stay at Newport Resort. Just sayin’.
Chihuahua Puppy
I’ve written before about our small herd of dogs that consists of Sophie, Charlie, and Zoey. You would imagine that I have enough dogs and I would imagine so too if I would just pay attention to the unbelievable amount of dog hair that is covering everything and everyone in the house. For some reason . . . I never think that I have enough animals and I’ve mentioned this before as well, I’m one set of whiskers away from being the next subject of an “Animal Hoarders” two hour special. Nonetheless, I’ve been hinting (or harping) for the last several days about a new Chihuahua puppy that I would name Malcom. I’ve surfed all the local Pets for Sale ads and Googled local breeders and even provided pictures and various price points for Chihuahua puppies and Tom ain’t buyin it….really…he isn’t buying one. No matter how long I sit on the sofa with my bottom lip sticking out, he just shakes his head gloomily and says “NO”. He’s a hater. He obviously is not interested in making me happy OR participating in my and Zoey’s plan of Chihuahua world domination. He seems to think that we have enough dogs. I offered to get rid of HIS dog, but he didn’t seem to go along with that idea either which just proves that he’s impossible to get along with. I’m not giving up . . . and this gift would be REALLY cute with a bow on it . . . or a sparkly collar or at least a cute tiny t-shirt. I’m not picky . . .
