Out and Back

My birthday in a parallel universe

I turned 31 earlier this week.  The day itself was pretty low-key, which was fine with me.  Now that I'm in my 30s, my birthdays are cause for introspective contemplation as opposed to partying like there's no tomorrow.  My husband gifted me with a copy of The Crack-Up by you-know-who, along with a DVD of what is arguably VK's sappiest movie (but oh how I love it so.)  My auntie sent me a $20, and my brother gave me a copy of Sherman Alexie's latest book. 

My parents were visiting from Seattle, and they gave me a pair of diamond earrings.  Long story short: I had purchased a pair for myself about two and a half years ago -- my rationale being if I waited around for my husband to buy stuff like that for me I'd be waiting for the rest of my life -- and I wore them constantly because they went with everything.  Then, tragically, this past September as I was preparing to check out of the scummy Quality Inn in Allentown, PA, I left one earring sitting on the counter beside the sink and didn't realize it until I was well on my way down the road.  I was bummed out by the loss, but thoroughly touched that my parents decided to surprise me with a replacement pair for my birthday.  I'm too afraid of losing them again to start wearing them just yet, but I'll get over that soon enough, I suppose.

I baked my own birthday cake (with a little help from Mom) and we went to Sonic for a lunch of chili-cheese Coneys and onion rings.  (I can't quite get over the fact that Sonic calls their hot dogs "Coneys," but I appreciate the reference nonetheless.)  I thought to myself that a better birthday lunch would have been a Nathan's dog, some clam strips, and a beer on the boardwalk at the real Coney Island, but I was happy with my fast food chain facsimile.  We had dinner at a local pizza joint (again, not Totonno's, but still delicious) and then headed back to my apartment for peppermint-fudge birthday cake, which was also quite tasty.

So cool

I just found out that Stephen Graham Jones, one of my favorite writers, has a blog.  Even better, my favorite of his short stories, Screentime, is posted there for your reading pleasure.

I attended a reading that he gave at Southeast Missouri State University back in 2001 or 2002 and it pretty much changed my life.  (So I guess there was some good to come out of the two years I spent living in the hellhole that is Cape Girardeau, Missouri.)

His incredible way with words both inspires and intimidates me.

So why couldn't I make it as a personal stylist?

In the interest of lining my ever-dwindling bank account (unemployment blows), I listed a couple of my lesser-used Coach purses on Ebay yesterday.  One of them has a few people watching it, but no bids, and the other one is already up to $49 after being listed for less than a day.  That's a good sign, considering how many Coach purses (and fake Coach purses) are listed on Ebay on any given day.

It got me thinking -- if the cute tan, purple, and pink Coach bag I bought two years ago is already generating bids on Ebay, then I must have some awesome taste in bags.  Either that, or it's just a rare purse.  I don't know.  Friends and associates regularly compliment me on my taste in clothing, shoes, accessories, so I wonder if I couldn't do well as a personal shopper?  I mean, hey, Carson Kressley even told me I was glamorous.

(I really need to get a job.)