September 5, 2004

I'm officially old. 34. Jesus. 34 years old and I am still milking the birthdays for all they're worth. My mom totally showered me with birthday presents. I think she's sick of holding out for a wedding or a baby shower and is just succumbing to her 50-something biological imperative to give presents. That's fine with me, as long as I don't find her up in my old bedroom talking to one of the dolls like it's her granddaughter.

(This is the first year in memory I didn't get a doll for my birthday. My mom's been buying me dolls for birthdays and Christmases as far back as I can remember, but I don't have room for them at my place. So my former bedroom at my parents' house, now a guest room, features a collection of dolls along the line of Susan's from Seinfeld. I'm used to them, so they seem perfectly normal to me, but apparently they're creepy to outsiders. There's only one that I'm a little nervous might come to life and do me ill.)

So, no dolls this year, but otherwise, I totally made out like a bandit. In television DVDs alone, I raked in the motherlode: Buffy Season 6, Angel Season 3, and Harsh Realm! Hurrah! I also got a Lowe's gift card, fancy bath stuff, a body fat scale (my new hobby is weighing/checking my body fat every 15 minutes, to my fascination and great horror).

Well, despite all my whining and grumbling about Seattle, barring any surprise path changes, I'm moving there. How about that! Ha!

08.05.04