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!)