Story Time #2: Fun With the Easter Bunny

This is a happy Easter story about a happy young woman.

The happy young woman decided to make a happy Easter treat.



Aww!  A happy little Easter Bunny cake with a happy little marshmallow nose, and a happy candy bow tie.   

 

Then the happy young woman got hungry.

The cute little bunny cake never saw it coming.

Aww!  The cute little dead bunny cake bleeds cute little jelly beans.



 MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Happy Belated Easter!

The End

SAA Ep. #65: The Birfday Adventure

My birfday was almost a week ago, but my internet was down for most of the week.  This is the first chance I've had to blog about my wonderful, exciting, adventurous, and (of course) slightly awkward birfday.

My birfday started out early because of church.  After church, several of my friends and I ended up at Applebees.  My Sunday School Bible Study teacher, his wife, and four kids came, too.  That was awesome for me, because those kids are awesome. The best quote from my entire birthday came from the six year old who was seated next to me.  I was eating my free birthday ice cream, but most of it had melted by the time I got to the bottom.  That didn't stop me from continuing to eat it.  The six year old asked, "Why are you eating your ice cream juice?"

Because it's my birfday, kid.  That's why.

After lunch, my roommate and I went to the science museum.  She wasn't all that excited about the science museum, but pretty soon she started getting interested in the whale skeletons (I was interested in those, but mainly just because I firmly believe that in 1986, Admiral James T. Kirk and the crew of the former U.S.S. Enterprise came back in time on a Klingon vessel with the sole purpose of capturing two Humpback whales to bring back to the 23rd century, in an attempt to repopulate the species--as well as get rid of a silly probe that was going to destroy the earth).  Me?  I was far more fascinated by the inch worm that had discovered my hand.  Inch worms are adorable.  Or at least they used to be.

Inch worms love me.  I usually pick up about twenty of them when I go running in the springtime.  Apparently they think I'm a giant shuttle bus or something.  It's probably because I just run back and forth up and down their sidewalk.  A few of them forget to get off at their stop (not that I stop for them anyway), so when I get done from my run, there are still a good dozen of them clinging for dear life to my shirt, pants, or shoes.  And really, by the time I've had to pull the seventh inch worm out of my hair, they aren't that adorable anymore.  But the one at the museum, which wasn't part of any of the exhibts, still captured my attention more than the stuff I was supposed to be looking at.

It wasn't that I wasn't interested in the museum exhibits.  It's just that I have the attention span of a three year old.

Well, my attention span grew up a little bit when we reached the small gem exhibit.  I don't like jewels as much as my sister or mom, but I'm still a girl, and I can appreciate a shiny object or two. 

...and then my attention span rapidly deteriorated again when we reached the dinosaurs...

...I pretty much became a three year old again.



This guy needs a 900 lb. cheeseburger.



Aww.  He's cute.  I think I want one.



It's a Pachycephalosaurus!  This is one of my favorite dinosaurs (probably because it has a hard head)!  I got so excited about seeing him (I call him Pachie) that I almost caused a scene. 

 So, I was not eaten by any dinosaurs...but...

...in a completely unexpected turn of events, I was eaten by a giant praying mantis.

THE END.

Wait...

...no it isn't.

After the museum, my roommate dropped me off to pick up my car from Applebees.  I needed to go by Walmart on the way home because my mom had given me a gift card so that I could purchase a running/hydration belt.  If you don't know what that is, think of a fanny pack.  Then erase the fanny pack stigma from your mind, add on holsters for water bottles, and you have a vague idea of what a running belt is.  It's a useful belt for holding water and other stuff while you're running.  I think that the fact that I wanted a running belt for my birthday qualifies me as one of those crazy running people. 

Anyway, I was starting to turn to get on one road, when I remembered there was a newer, much more better Walmart right next to the Applebees.  So I changed lanes quickly and started to go across a busy intersection.  I was kinda sorta already in the middle of the intersection when I realized that I had a red light.  I slammed on my brakes and just generally freaked out.  I would like to be able to say that I almost died on my birthday (because that sounds exciting and tragic).  Really, I just made myself look like an idiot and ticked a bunch of much more cautious drivers off.  But hey--traffic signals don't matter on your birthday...right?  ...

After all this birthday excitement, you'd think I'd have had enough, right?  Yeah, me too.  Well, I went to Walmart.  I found my running belt (which, by the way, I LOVE.  I took it out on a nine mile run the other day, and it was pretty much the coolest fanny pack running accessory ever).

Well, my mom had given me a card for a certain amount, and after the running belt, I still had a little $$ left over.  I thought to myself, "Self, you should get a birthday cake."  I mean, it all balances out, right?  A running belt in one hand, a cake in the other.  Yeah.

I meant to just get one of those little individual slices of cake, but they were so expensive compared to the reduced price full cakes.  I looked over all that the bakery had to offer, and my eyes kept going back to this one particular cake.  It was white with pink trim.  Now, pink is no longer my favorite color, but when I was a kid--everything was pink.  If it wasn't pink, it wasn't right.  And somewhere in my psyche, I connected the color pink to birthdays.  So I wanted this pink and white cake.  Also, the cake was two layer: one chocolate, one vanilla--two of my favorite cake flavors.  And it was only a few dollars more than the little individual cake slices. 

Still, I wasn't sure. 

So I stared at the cakes.

As I was staring at the cakes, I heard someone talking to me.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you're so pretty.  Where are you from?"

I looked up to see a man smiling at me.  He was maybe 5-10 years older than me, and not all that creepy-looking.  I was taken aback by his direct approach.  I'm pretty clueless when it comes to guys being interested in me, but this was obvious enough for even ME to get.  I am never interested in making any kind of love connection with a stranger, but I've really been convicted lately about being rude to people--so I decided to be cautiously pleasant, which went completely against my gut instinct to run away like a little girl.

I think he figured I was from another country (I guess I'm too pale to be American), because after he found out I was from the U.S., he asked about my heritage.  Then he asked if I was single.  Then he asked if I was a lesbian.  He said he just wanted to make sure.  Then he asked me a few more questions.  For a moment, I wondered if he wasn't really hitting on me, but was actually trying to figure out information so he could try to steal my identity--but since he never asked me about my mother's maiden name or anything like that, I guess he was just really interested in me.  I was starting to wonder how I was going to let this guy down easy, when he sighed and said, "I should go before I get in trouble."  He reluctantly pointed to a gold ring on his left finger and said, "I am married, you see, and I should go find my wife before she finds me here with you."

Umm, yeah...

Then he paused before leaving, smiled awkwardly and said, "But, really, you're just so beautiful."

And he went away. 

I paused for a moment, silently freaking out over the whole situation, 1) because I never get hit on by anyone, let alone strangers, let alone married strangers, and I have no idea how to cope with that sort of thing, and 2) because what kind of married guy just goes around hitting on women as they look at cakes in Walmart?

Then I came to my senses and grabbed the pink and white cake, because obviously that cake made me more attractive. 

And even if it wasn't the cake, I figure it couldn't hurt.

Because even if it was a creepy married dude, it's always nice to have someone think you're pretty.  Especially on your birthday.  And it never hurts to have a pink and white cake.

And it never hurts to look like Santa Claus, unless you're a hobo.  ...but that's an entirely different story.

The cake? I definitely ate three slices that night.  I don't know if it made me more attractive, but it did give me a killer cake hangover--or a "cakeover," if you will.

...and the next day at work, just as I was telling my friend Kara about my massive cakeover, she presented me with a birthday cake pop.

Hmm.

It's the thought that counts.

(Actually, the cake pop was awesome, as was the latte she bought me!  My birthday was excellent and adventurous!  I'm really liking 32 so far!)

SAA Ep. # 21: Birthday Adventures

I just finished up another birthday. Number 31. Now I'm thirty-something; not just plain ol' 30 anymore. Yeah...birthdays (and Birthday Eves) are awesome, but for me, they are more opportunities for socially awkward adventures.

My first adventure happened on Birthday Eve (AKA St. Patrick's Day). My friend Desiree has an actual BIRTHDAY on my Birthday Eve, and I decided to get her some donuts--but not just any donuts. Krispy Kremes. You remember...the ONE DONUT TO RULE THEM ALL, the Donut of Power!

So, I woke up extra early that morning and traveled far into Mordor--I mean, the Krispy Kreme shop--hoping to snag a donuty breakfast of my own before going to work, you know, since I was there anyway.

The strangest thing happened when I walked into the store. There was this lady there who was trying to explain to the...donut sellers? Donut chefs? Donut artists? Donut-istas? Hmm...let's keep going with the LOTR's theme and call them Donut Orcs...or Dorcs. That works. People who make and sell donuts are officially called Dorcs.

Okay.

So, the strangest thing happened when I walked into Krispy Kreme. There was this lady who was trying to explain to the Dorcs that she wanted a dozen assorted donuts, but she wanted them all packaged differently. This poor lady, I felt so sorry for her (and even more so for the Dorc that was helping her), because she kept rambling and stuttering. Finally, she managed to tell the Dorcs that she wanted four donuts in one box, six in another box, one in a bag, and one to eat in the store. It took her about five minutes to explain all this because she kept stuttering and generally not making sense.

Then she finally got what she wanted the way she wanted it packaged, and she went to pay for her order. Well, the Dorcs didn't communicate very well with each other, and the lady wasn't paying attention, so she ended up paying for more donuts than she was supposed to, and then the manager had to come void the order. Then the poor lady couldn't carry all the stuff she had ordered and more Dorcs had to come help her.

Then the frazzled lady went to eat the donut she'd ordered in the store, and while she was there, she took out a notebook to write something down. What was she writing? Nobody knows, because the pen she was using didn't have any ink in it.

Did I mention that this poor frazzled lady was me?

It was.

I was writing down a prayer. I do that. I have ADOSD (Attention Deficit Oooh Shiny! Disorder). If I don't write down or type out my prayers, I can't stay focused. So that's what I was doing with the notebook...praying in Krispy Kreme. Only I got about two sentences into my prayer before my pen completely ran out of ink. I could have gone out to my car to get a pen, but that would have required me juggling all my boxes out to the car with me. I could have asked one of the Dorcs for a pen, but they had already done enough for poor confusing me. So I just sat there and wrote without any ink. And I know they noticed, because one of the Dorcs kept coming up behind me with the pretense of sweeping the floor, trying to figure out what in the world I was doing.

Eventually, I ate my donut and left...and I finished my prayer in the car...after I drove to a different parking lot...after I got a new pen...

So the rest of Birthday Eve was pretty fun. I went walking/running while listening to some Rich Mullins, and it was amazing. I felt so good both physically and Spiritually, but when I got done with the exercise, I had to rush. I was going to a production of Phantom of the Opera that was being performed by a local private school. So I showered and got dressed, and then realized I hadn't eaten much of anything since that donut. So I was lightheaded and stuff. I scarfed down some spaghetti squash and put on some mascara and rushed out the door.

My roommate was playing violin in the orchestra for the play (she teaches violin for the school), so she was driving. We were over halfway there when I realized I'd left my ticket at the apartment. Fortunately, the ticket people were very nice and very forgiving of poor frazzled me, and they got me another ticket. I was able to enjoy the show, but not before one more little bit of social awkwardness.

The student who took my ticket at the door was wearing some really cute black shoes. They were particularly cute, because I was wearing the same shoes. So I made a point of telling her, "Oh, I love your shoes!" She smiled and thanked me. I said, "We obviously have the same taste," and I showed her my shoes. She gave me a blank stare and thanked me again. I said, "I said that because we are wearing the same shoes." She gave me an even blanker stare...and I realized that she wasn't going to play the game. Aww. So I went and took my seat. The end.

The birthday went extremely well. There was very little social awkwardness on the actual birthday. I did go out to dinner with the family I nanny for, and I almost passed that up because I was SO tired. Birthdays are exhausting. But they talked me into it and I had a pleasant and almost completely unawkward experience. The waiter thought I was the kids' mom, but that sort of thing happens to me ALL the time. I should write a blog about that...

But then I went out to eat yesterday for some post-birthday merriment with my friends. We went to an upscale pizza place. First off, they couldn't seat us at a table (at first) and we were seated in two back-to-back booths, which meant we had to shout at each other if we wanted to converse.

Then, our waiter was interesting. He was a close-talker. And a skulker. You know the type. He stands way too close to you so that you can smell/feel his breath (smells/feels like fish)...and he just generally creeps you out. Then he looms over you while you're pondering your order. I think they do it on purpose. They stand there creeping you out until you just order the first thing you see--the featured and most expensive item on the side of the menu. We actually nicknamed him "Gollum" because of the skulking.

We got everything ordered and were able to move the party to an actual table, which was nice. But I was wearing a new shirt, and it gaped a lot (which I didn't realize before I put it on), so I ended up having to tug on my shirt constantly to keep from flashing everyone. Gollum may or may not have noticed this, but he did tell me that since it was my birthday celebration, I got a free piece of cake. So my friend turned to me and said, "Pull up your shirt, Ruth. The cake is ALREADY free!"

Yeah.

Then they brought out the cake, and I thought, "Phew! They're not one of these restaurants that does the big birthday production. They just let me eat my cake in peace!" But then another waiter (who was not Gollum, but a nice man named Kevin who has a bad toothache that keeps him up at night--please keep him in your prayers--I'm totally serious here) realized it was for my birthday, and he took the cake away again.

And I sighed and said, "Oh, apparently this cake comes with a side of public humiliation."

And it did. In the form of a candle. And a birthday song.

All in all, I had a MARVELOUS birthday, but I'm glad I have almost a whole year before I get to have another one. Birthdays are great, but they're exhausting.

I now return to my regularly scheduled life, which is already in progress.

Embarrablast From the Past Episode # 7: The Surprise Birthday Party

As my 31st birthday inevitably approaches (sigh), I feel the need to post this...just in case.

When I was a little girl, I never had birthday parties with friends. My mom always just made a cake for the family and we ate ice cream and I received presents. I didn't live in this world that most kids seem to live in now--if you don't have a HUGE party for your kids EVERY year, you're apparently a bad parent. I am not picking on my parents. I enjoyed my childhood birthdays. Still, there was a part of me that secretly longed for someone, anyone, to throw me a surprise party.

The surprise parties I saw on the stupid 80's sitcoms all seemed so much fun. I wanted for people to hide, then jump out and shout "SURPRISE!" as soon as I showed up.

And then I grew up.

In my life, I have had two surprise birthday parties. Both were while I was at college. Both were...less than ideal.

Now the first one was actually fun, but it didn't turn out as planned. It wasn't my plans that were ruined, because I wasn't the one who planned anything. But about a week or so before my birthday, I started having some suspicions that someone was planning a party for me. I don't know why I started thinking this. The ions just seemed to be off; the stars were misaligned. I knew. Somehow I knew.

So I told the roommate I had at the time, "Roommate, I think someone is planning me a surprise party. I don't know who, but I know someone is planning it." That roommate and I got along really well, but we weren't extremely close friends. I figured she would be able to keep a secret that I knew someone else's secret.

My birthday arrived and my suspicions became even more confirmed. My friends (who all knew it was my birthday) completely ignored the fact that it was my birthday. That's something people only do when they are trying to hide the fact that they're going to suprise you later. I mean, that's classic 80's sitcom. Classic.

So again, I said to my roommate, "Roommate, I am pretty sure that someone is throwing me a surprise party."

And then this girl who I sorta kinda knew, but not really, called me up and said, "Hey, do you want to come down to the student center later and hang out?"

I said, "Why? We have never really hung out like that before?"

She said, "Oh, I just thought it would be fun to spend some time with you. Can you meet me at the student center at...say 6:30 sharp?"

Yeah. I knew exactly what was going on. She was the bait. She was the lure to get me down to the student center where my surprise party was to be held.

So I turned to my roommate. "Roommate, I'm absolutely CERTAIN that someone is throwing me a surprise party!"

My roommate sighed heavily. "Yes, Ruth. Someone is throwing you a surprise party. It's me. Are you happy, now?"

D'oh.

I went to the student center at 6:30. I acted surprised. I had a great time with my friends, and all in all, it was a fantastic party and a fantastic birthday. But to this day, I still feel guilty for figuring out my roommate's secret and THEN being stupid enough to tell her about it.

The second surprise party I had was on my 25th birthday. At this point, I had already learned from previous mistakes. I told all my friends multiple times that I did NOT under any circumstances want a suprise party...or a party of any kind. What I wanted on my birthday was to spend some time with my boyfriend.

Only my boyfriend spent most of the day ignoring me. I was already depressed about turning 25. I was not feeling well that day. Then, my boyfriend ignored me all day. He didn't meet me for lunch like I asked him to. He didn't meet me for dinner. So I had a serious case of the grumps by about 7:00 that night.

My friends came by to cheer me up. "Ruth, why don't you get out of your room. It's your birthday! Come down to the student center with us and have some fun!"

"No," I said firmly. "It's my birthday, my boyfriend has ignored me all day, and I can be miserable if I want to." (You would cry too, if it happened to you...)

"Really, we don't want you to be stuck in your room," they implored. "Come down to the student center with us. We can play pool or watch movies or whatever you want. Just don't sit all alone in your room."

"No," I said again. "I want to be left alone."

Finally, they realized I wasn't going to come with them. So one of my friends said, "Okay, Ruth, we wanted this to be a surprise, but we're having a party for you, so you kind of have to come to the student center with us. Now. We're late."

D'oh.

And let me tell you, that was probably the most awkward party I've ever been to. I asked them NOT to do it, and they did it. And it was dreadful. My boyfriend was there. He was acting strange. My mood continued to be off. Everyone eventually left because of the tension in the air.

And later on that night, I got dumped.

On my birthday.

Fun times.

...

Anyways...


So I'm not expecting or suspecting any of my friends to throw me a party, surprise or otherwise, but just in case you're one of my friends and the idea popped into your head, I advise you to pop the idea right back out.

I'm socially awkward. I'm introspective. I'm an introvert. In other words, I don't always like people! :-D

I like surprises, but NOT surprise social interactions. If I know I'm going to have to be social, I have better time to prepare myself for it. If a social encounter just jumps out at me and says, "SURPRISE!" then there's a good chance I'm not going to be the best company. In fact, I might get really excited and punch you in the face.

So if you want to throw me a party, go for it...just let me know about it in advance. You've been warned.