I had a lovely night last night. Some friends decided to take me out to dinner in celebration of my birthday. It was fab to get out and see people besides the ones that actually live in my house, I enjoyed my meal, and they gave me, like, the most perfect gifts ever.

So, thank you, Tiffany, Cheryl, Kiah and Kelly, who were at dinner, and Amy, Steph and Jennifer, who were represented, in absentia, by the gifts. You ladies made my week! Hugs to you all.

On a more cheerful note, my birthday was somewhat salvaged, after all.

A decision has been made that Madalyn will not be attending the Dallas Paul concert with me.

So, happy birthday to me, I guess.

I staggered out of bed this morning at 7:15, long enough to fix Madalyn's hair and make sure Robert knew both kids' outfits were laid out for school. Then I headed back to bed and didn't get up until 11:45.

Basically, I have no plans today. I had plans, until I realized that Robert had his two classes to teach today. Now, I'm not one who is loathe to do things by myself, so if I had the means I'd have simply taken off to Norman or OKC on my own for the day. The monkey wrench in the works being that I HAVE NO CAR so that was out of the question, too.

So, here I sit, waiting for Robert to show up, the idea being that we will go to lunch. Unfortunately, and don't get me wrong; I'm not deliberately looking for reasons to be dissatisfied; this is just the truth: I am sick unto death of the restaurants here. None of them are that great to begin with and then when you've eaten at them about a thousand times in the past couple of years, because you had no other choices, going to them just doesn't seem like any big whoop.

Tonight we have Open House at Madalyn's school and I think I will take myself to a movie afterward. So those are my grand plans for my birthday. *sigh*

You know, it's not like I'm an attention whore who needs a parade and a full marching band to celebrate. But I do like to make some fuss out of birthdays -- even if I have to plan the fuss my own self -- and it kind of sucks, to put it bluntly, to not be able to do something at least slightly out of the ordinary. I mean, the movies will be nice and I will enjoy it -- but I just went to the movies on my own on Sunday afternoon, so it's not like it's some rare treat.

Fear not, though, faithful readers. Lest I begin to sound completely whiny and ungrateful, I will also add that, you know, it's not what I'd hoped for, it's not what I'd planned....but, damn, it sure beats the alternative of NOT having any more birthdays. So I will delay my celebration and just be happy I'm here to do any celebrating at all -- and that my family is here to do it with me.

(And, after all, I am going to see Paul three times in the next two months, that sure doesn't suck!)

Oh my! This is disturbingly addicting!

(Hint: click on her and hold the button down and you can control her)

Clicky clicky

This is for all the people who don't understand why I would spend the money I'm willing to spend to see Paul.

Maybe you know about our current financial situation and you can't imagine how I would think it's okay to spend so much on concert tickets. Or maybe you don't have any idea how much we do or don't have in our bank account and you just plain don't see the point in paying such a high price to see a concert -- and then doing it more than once.

Honestly, now that I sit here at the keyboard, I don't know if I even can explain it so you'll understand. Someone asked me recently why I was spending the money and the best I could do was splutter, "But it may be my last chance!" There are lots of "last chances" in the music world, though, and probably most people still wouldn't put forth so much cash to see them. And that's one of the differences right there. It's worth it to me. It matters. I missed John. I missed George. I'll be damned if I'm going to miss Paul, as well. This may be my last shot at being there with Paul, in the very same room, hearing the songs coming from his lips, seeing the very hands that wrote those songs playing them on the piano.

It's not just that it's my last chance, though. Truth be told, even if Paul promised to do another tour, or five, or ten after this one I would still be trying to see him just as many times with just as good of seats.

I am so tempted here to take the easy way out and say "If I have to explain, you wouldn't understand." The funny thing is, that's probably true. I'm not going to make anyone understand why this means so much to me, I think. But not being understood has never stopped me from talking before so I will make the attempt.

I am not just a fan of the Beatles. Fans of musical groups buy some or most of the artist's albums. They know most of the songs but not much of the background of them. They're happy if they can score tickets to a concert but they aren't devastated if they can't. They listen to lots of other artists. Their favorite may even change every so often, depending on who's got the best album out at that particular moment. If that's the kind of music fan you are, if you would get sick of listening to any group if you had to hear them too much, if you can't recognize the singer's voice in two notes of a song you have never even heard before, then you will not understand.

I live the Beatles. They are a part of me, part of who I am. I have people across the country, across the continent, across the globe, people whom I have never met in person and never will, who think of me immediately when they see something Beatles-related. That is how intertwined they are with my life and who I am as a person. When I hear one of the boys' voices coming out of the speakers in a store or a restaurant, the recognition is instantaneous. The reaction in my brain is the same as if you were sitting in a restaurant and heard your mother's or your best friend's voice coming out of the ceiling. It makes me smile every time. If I'm sad, or bored, or stressed, or angry all it takes is a song or a few minutes of video footage and all is well again. The Beatles are my comfort item. If I have managed to go several days without watching them or listening to them, I start to miss them, as though they were actually here and have gone away.

That's the best I can do right now. I don't know how else to explain it. And I definitely can't ask anyone to understand. All I can say is this is not "just a concert." I'm not going because I think Paul "is cool and I like the Beatles, too." Going to see Paul again means the world to me. It means more than any trip or any tangible thing I could buy. It means more than a hundred dollars or a thousand dollars. I have had a rough couple of years, here. The last time I saw Paul ranks in the top five best nights of my life and I have been praying ever since that he would come around again. There is no way I could not go see him. It would be completely unfathomable. Not going to see him was not an option, period. And I think that, after the crap time we've had lately, I deserve it. My children are not suffering for the money I've spent. I am not taking away food, housing, clothing, schooling, or even toys from them to make this possible.

Some might also question the wisdom of spending money to take a five-year-old to one of the concerts. Well, this child loves Paul like I do. She was only two years old when I went to pick her up from my in-laws' house after returning from one of Paul's concerts. Two years old, and when she saw me coming, wearing the concert t-shirt, she called out, "Paul!" I made a promise to myself, right there and then, that if Paul toured again Madalyn would come with me to one of the concerts. This might be my last shot, but it might be her only shot at seeing him. So we are going, come hell or high water. That is the one concert I don't have tickets for yet but we will find a way. Even if she only retains the memory of one snippet of one song, that will be enough for me. It's something I will remember for the rest of my life.

And that's all I have to say.

I am so tired right now I probably could not even be classified as alive. We're talking Afternoon of the Living Dead, here. A mad scientist has reanimated my corpse and I'm staggering around the house with a glassy-eyed, vacant stare, drooling slightly and communicating via terrifying, hideous moans and wails.

So, you know, pretty much the usual.

With this tidbit of information it should make everyone in the immediate area thrilled to know I'm about to head out to the garage and attempt to operate a two-ton motor vehicle. I would love to abstain but I committed myself to helping at Wednesday night church through the end of October, so off we go.

Fortunately my zombie-like attributes do not extend as far as being compelled to consume the flesh of mortals, so that's good news for the rest of the church.

Grrrrrr.

Haven't you always wanted to take a vacation with a crazy hippie? Time's running out!

I must take a moment to express my current state of mind: OhmigodIonlyhave34daystillIseePaulwhatthehellamIgoingtowearohcrapIwas-
supposedtolose50poundsbynowohwellIgettoseePaulSQUEEEEEEE!

Thank you.

(The tour started this past Friday, babies! He has today and tomorrow off then will be in Atlanta on the 20th. Rock on, you lucky Atlantans!)

I'm freaking sick.

The nexus of the illness is debatable but my theory points in the direction of my sainted mother, who began experiencing chills and feverish symptoms last Thursday, the day they left here to drive home. JZ was next to fall, followed closely by myself and Robert. As of this writing, Madalyn has yet to get sick (knock wood).

As is the normal any more, I am cycling through symptoms one or two at a time. Near as I can figure, this has something to do with getting old. Suddenly, in the past few years, I never get a full-fledged cold. I will have, say, sinus stuffiness for a day or two, then move on to a cough. This time I started with a slight fever and chills yesterday. Those were gone by this morning and I am now developing a swell sore throat in place of them. I am having trouble deciding which is worse - having all the symptoms at once (at least you get it over with) or having them one or two at a time and not feeling as badly (but prolonging the experience). Seems like a toss-up to me.

Seriously, what is WRONG with me? I am sitting here, looking at the Gymboree website, near tears because of all this gorgeous stuff that I cannot afford to buy right now. Someone needs to investigate them and find out if they weave narcotics into the fibers of the clothing to get parents hooked. When my mom was here we went to the mall and she bought me....err, Madalyn...four items. This was the first new Gymbo stuff I'd acquired in probably four months or so. Y'all, I was getting the DT's. I started salivating as soon as I walked in the store.

I swear, if we get one of these bigger sums of money that we suspect we might get, I am going to blow a hundred or two at Gymbo. Otherwise it's going to continue to prey on my mind. I swear that place is like a cocaine habit -- and probably just as expensive.

Parents = gone

Me = sad

Car = non-existent

Outlook = grim, though slightly less so than it has been

Sleep = not enough

JZ = traumatized by preschool

Madalyn = born to be a school kid

I think that brings everyone up to speed.

More to come later as I get back to my normal, sans-houseguest routine.

Dear Trackback Ping Spammers,

I hope you die very soon. Slowly and painfully would be preferable.

Actually, that's probably not very good for my karma.

Okay, let's apply that sentiment to your financial lives only. I hope the bottom drops so far out of your "business" that you would need a spelunking license to go find it. You could go get a job cleaning the toilets in the Port Authority on your hands and knees with a toothbrush and it would still be a hundred times more respectable than what you are doing now, you perverted, bottom-feeding, sorry excuse for a human being. If you think you're getting any business from anyone who reads this blog, you are truly as insane as I imagine you to be. And, in closing: bite me.

Yours truly,
Mary

Okay, I know I just said it might be a little while longer before I had anything else to say, but I just have to add that I am excessively and unreasonably excited about taking the kids to Arbuckle Wilderness tomorrow. Part of it is the excitement of going with my mom, I think. We don't get to do stuff like this often. I think there are actually more kid-friendly activities closer to where we live here in OK than where my parents live in CA, if you can believe it. We still have to drive, mind you (A.W. is about 35 minutes away) but, really, at my parents' house there's the zoo and the beach and that's pretty much it. I mean, there's only so many times you can look at seagulls or meerkats before you're wishing there was a damned mall nearby or something.

The other thing that plays a part in my excitement is just remembering how much fun we had when we went last time. It's a "just enough" activity. The drive isn't too far, it doesn't take too long to see everything -- you know, it's just the right amount so as to be entertaining but not exhausting and overwhelming.

We are going to get up in the morning and get ready, then take the kids to breakfast somewhere here in town before we get going. We'll have some snacks and drinks packed in the car and that should hold us over till we get back. There isn't really anywhere spectacular to eat down there so we're going to bypass lunch altogether and try to return home in time to go out to dinner here, instead.

Wow...I guess I'm really a parent. There's no turning back now. I'm getting excited about a drive-thru animal park.

I'm still here, just busy with my parents.

Rather than take the easy way out and post a meme or quiz results or something I will instead just say: hang with me, I'll be back soon.

(We are taking the kids to Arbuckle Wilderness tomorrow so maybe we'll be accosted by a group of rogue emus or something and I can write about it.)

God bless the zoo workers!

Zoos weather Katrina well

[HAPPY DANCE]My parents will be here day after tomorrow![/HAPPY DANCE]

But, wow, have I ever been working my butt off! I am, like, totally impressed by my moxie, and yet I'm too tired to congratulate myself about it.

We have another full day of tasks ahead of us tomorrow but I honestly do not think I will still be slaving away at 1 a.m. trying to get everything done. Which will be a vast improvement on the last, oh, eight years or so.

Yesterday, Susan left me this comment:

"You worked at Hearst Castle? NO WAY!!!! I visited there in July 1999, was of course struck dumb by its opulence, but really only took one thing away, and that was this: it is nothing short of ABSOLUTELY TRAGIC that nobody gets to swim in that gorgeous subterranean tiled swimming pool! I seriously considered hurdling past the guides and throwing myself into its tempting blueblueblue waters, clothes, shoes and all. I sincerely hope to find a copy of that pool when I go to heaven someday. Please tell me the employees got to have pool parties after closing?!?!"