12:00 a.m. Yay, me.  B-day today.  So, how do I celebrate?  I take extra work!  The previous nearly two weeks without a computer for one of the companies really to a bit out of my wages, so I need to get caught up.  That's okay.  I'm not sure I feel like celebrating.  I mean, really, after 16 (legal to drive), 18 (legal to vote), and 21 (Captain Morgan, anyone?), there's really not much to do but reflect on how your life has changed so substantially over the years.

My life is definitely not stagnant.  It really hasn't ever been.  We grow (some of us more than others...weight loss plan #1590724?).  We watch life change around us.  We hope our children are more successful in life than we are, and we're not unsuccessful.  We just want them to see the mistakes we've made and not do similar. 

I'll have to disappoint my mom and sister.  I can't make anything happen this weekend for myself.  Although Boo did call yesterday, because the restaurant at which she works had a special on frog legs!  She wanted to know if I wanted some for my b-day.  LOL.  You have to know the back story.  You just do.  I'm not going to rehash it for you, so this is the link:  Frog Legs.  It's one of my best stories ever.  Just sitting the frog butts in a box on the counter and telling everyone "Dinner's done!" would have been faboo.  Unfortunately, she left work at 4:00 p.m. and I didn't get the message until after 6:00 p.m.  I slept through the phone ringing.  I'm not complaining, although I would've loved the frog legs sitting on the counter, but that sleep yesterday was deep, good, healthy sleep, something I've really, really needed.

For this year, I want to be read.  I want my blogs to be read.  I want to form a kindred spirit with other striped-leaning moms, if there are such things.  Hey, you know?  I think I'd take one that even leaned in a poodle direction.  Working at home is isolating.  Period.  I feel so stooooopid when I make it out into public and corner the poor Gasmart clerk.  My body snaps.  I walk in...

ADULT HUMAN! 

And I go on the hunt...stalking the poor people for just a taste...a mere drop...of conversation that doesn't involve farts, girls, zits, cartoons, not-me! conversations, chore discussions, and so forth.  I found myself parroting the merits of Diet Coke!  Man-oh-man.  I am seriously isolated.

I started this blog at precisely 12:00 a.m. on my b-day.  I won't officially be "born" yet until 1:11 p.m. CST, but I might be sleeping then.  I work a lot of nights, mainly because I can't sleep.  I work a lot of days, too.  I sleep in shifts.  Two hours of snoozing seems to get me about eight hours of productive life, and then I crash for a little bit and push for more.   

12:54 a.m. You want to know how weird I am?  This is my idea of an awesome retirement home:

Yeah, it's random night tonight.  But you know what?  Life *is* random.  If it's not, why bother? 

1:04 a.m.  I downloaded work.  We'll chat later, hm?

2:15 a.m.  Why do people actually want to be colorectal surgeons?  I mean, it's kind of fascinating.  Kind of.  I guess if you want to help people, all kinds are required, but why that end of things?  What about feet? 

I'm kicking a book around in my head, kind of a weird one.  Wait, that describes all my books.  What if Noah's ark landed on Mount Ararat, where his son was cursed - into shifterdom.  Okay, okay.  I know it sounds weird, but, hey.  I'm to the point where I wonder if I'll ever be published, so I might as well write what I like and just hope for some kind of a chance.  After over a year since the one and only rejection letter, maybe it's time to put myself out there again.  There's always Lulu - for self-publishing, they're really, really reasonable, but my books would cost the general public about $15.  I don't think people would pay that for an unknown author.  Do you?  I know you can be listed on Amazon and get your own ISBN number.  I want to see something I've written in print so badly.  You know, I can also use Lulu to format my book in an electronic book, but I just don't see snuggling up in front of a warm fire with your computer.  This year's goal, huh?  It's only been a goal since 1998 or so.  Why can't I bring myself out of this funk and actually put something on the screen?  I mean, I've read some horrible books recently.  I know I'm better than that.  Gah.  I need some confidence! 

I think I need a nap.  I'm watching ManCub's friend (Weeble) for his granny in the morning.  He can be a bit bouncy, so I need to be alert enough to keep fights from breaking out.  They're never too serious; he arrives, raring to go, only to meet with ManCub, who's dragging.  It eventually evens out.  He's cute and funny once you establish the ground rules.  Peppy little talented guy, he is. 

6:43 a.m.  Got the nap. 

10:20 a.m.  Got some work done.  KitKat just informed me that her advisory (home room to us old folks) is in a competition, but she hates the theme.  Mrs. K wants them to do a Sesame Street theme.  KitKat?  She's MR. SNUFFELUPAGUS!  Oh, man.  Snuffy!  I love Snuffy, and expounded on the same, while KitKat looked very sheepish and called me something akin to a squirrel's obsession.  We all think Mrs. K is quite kooky, though.  She's the nicest woman you'd ever want to meet, but she taught Tiger's Eye social studies and now teaches KitKat, and she has a habit of losing homework and tests!  So, with that in mind, when they announced she's the PTA treasurer, we all worry a smidge about that situation!  She's a doll, though.  She's pleasant, pleasant, pleasant, and I loved talking to her, and will do so again soon for KitKat's P/T conferences at the end of the quarter. 

So, my KitKat is Snuffy.  She has to come up with a white T-shirt (not a problem...unless the boys have actually worn them, then it's time to buy new ones).  Snuffy!  Okay, I'm easily amused, but the fiendish side of me is jumping up and down, clapping my hands, because she'll be called Snuffy quite a bit in the upcoming months, and then she'll pick on me because I'm old, and our little verbal barb/sparring contest will continue until I've got something else to pick on her about!

11:31 a.m.  I just found this message from "Snuffy" on my computer:

CRACKER!!!!!!

Yeah, life is good LOL.  She's good.  I think she's already anticipated the "Snuffy" plan and launched a preemptive strike.  That's my girl.  Apparently, I can't tell if this is an upgrade or downgrade from last year's birthday wishes:  My Birthday Poem, 09/08/2006.

11:50 a.m.  Life is even better.  Weeble + Barbie toilet + gerbil = really, really good pics.  Will post soon!

12:21 p.m.  Weeble has left the building, visions of a gerbil clothing line dancing in his head.  Considering he made near-perfect replicas of the Chipmunks out of pipe cleaners, rubber bands, poof balls, old socks and markers, this oughtta be good!

5:13 p.m.  Nap and dreaming!  I had myself convinced I had tapes to type.  Um, it's been a while since I transcribed from tapes.  Sometimes, it's nice to wake up and realize it's all a dream! 

5:51 p.m.  Decisions, decisions.  General Tso's chicken or beef and broccoli? 

Official birthday dinner:  Crab Rangoon, sesame chicken, fried rice, and hot-and-sour soup.  No kids to compromise with!  Hope they're not getting rained on down at homecoming.

7:50 p.m.  Okay, I'm squeezing in about 5 minutes of work per 20 minutes of conversation LOL  Club Nimrod arrived home, mainly wet, and Boo and Mom filled me in on the happenings on my mom's hometown, one of those wonderful places where the population's too small to put on the sign as you drive into town.  No stoplight, and no stop sign.  Sneeze and miss, but seriously miss out!  "Snuffy" loves me for the now; she got a Butterfinger Blizzard on the way home and saved half for me, and the boys gave me free bites of theirs (we usually have a "bite-for-bite" system, definitely a good birthday treat), one Oreo and one cotton candy.  One day, a very nice orange tabby wandered up to our door, and my aunt took him because we couldn't afford the initial requirements that male cats need, and subsequently Trouble "adopted" a kitten down on my aunt's hog farm, which he couldn't suckle, but sure tried.  My aunt took pity on his mothering skills, and now Trouble's kitten is an indoor kitty.  Aunt Awesome nursed this kitten ATC and Trouble babysat it, so this kitten's very well adjusted...except when it comes to my visiting cousins' dog, Mozart.  Tiger's Eye had the kitten up on his shoulder when Mozart came in and, let us say, suffered.  Apparently, he begged for someone to get the dog out and pull the kitten out of his skin simultaneously.  Club Nimrod eventually pulled through and Tiger's Eye still has intact skin.  He tells a GREAT story.  I wish he'd blog.  ManCub had like two pounds of candy from the parade stuffed in his pockets until my sister, Boo, feared the goodies would drop his jeans to ground level from the weight and gave him a plastic bag. 

Work, woman!  Work!  Save up for that new mattress...pay taxes... 

9:46 p.m.  ManCub just finished telling me how my birthday is so lucky because September 8 is the date that Mark McGwire broke the home run record (now bettered), and Pujols just hit a triple and drove in two runs.  Of course, my stat hound knows his birthday is just as lucky; Cardinals have won all four games for the last four seasons played on his birthday.  Um, did I just give away my location?  Heh.  I like the MetroLink, too.  Heh heh heh.  I'm not that paranoid, but you still won't know my name or that of my kids' or my nephew or relatives or...

Hey.  You know my cat's name, my dog's name is Alex, and you've met some of my gerbils.  That's all you get. 

"Why do you have such a lucky birthday?" ManCub just inquired.  The pitcher just missed an easy out and Duncan got on base.  Miles hit a homer.  Cheers are resounding throughout the house, along with one very vocal "So what?" from my non-sports-appreciating KitKat aka Snuffy aka she has to have one thing that doesn't make her so perfect that you have to puke.  Honestly, she's that cool a kid!  I still have old Mark McGwire T-shirts that ManCub loves to wear, and he donned one in honor of my birthday.  Also, in honor of my birthday, he didn't launch into the steroid schpiel involving Mr. McGwire.  He usually doesn't miss the chance...

Okay, I've bored you enough with the birthday, ad nauseam.  I ate too my crab Rangoon and my stomach's aching for Rolaids.  That means a trip to Gasmart, where I'm sure to instantly feel better in the presence of an adult human or two.  If you've made it this far, thanks for being here!  Being read is the best gift a writer could as for.