Today is my birthday. I’m twenty-eight. I do not feel any wiser. I did wake up feeling a lot sicker than I was yesterday. (Hmm, “sicker” doesn’t sound like a word). My throat is aching, my ears are throbbing, and the drippage is decidedly gross.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMBER! HAVE A COLD!

I don’t have plans. I was supposed to work, but evidently I requested today off over a month ago and completely forgot. So my sister and I are doing dinner tomorrow night, instead. And I’m lounging around in my ugly red and white slippers watching the first season of Sex & the City.

I’m not throwing a pity party or anything (much) (despite what this might sound like), and I haven’t got a problem spending my birthday drinking tea and having lots of quiet reflection.

Or watching Carrie Bradshaw have a lot of quiet reflection (and a lot of sex, which I also cannot have).

I have high hopes for a fantastic year, filled with success and triumph and love. I’m determined. I will kick ass and take names. Watch me.

What I spent time making with Tayla and my munchable niece Lara the other morning:

Yeah, the image kind of sucks. I don’t photoshop well.

We also made snow angels. Lara was skeptical that lying on her back and flailing about was something she would be interested in doing (I can’t imagine why – perhaps because her mother & I looked like a bunch of mental patients, laughing and rolling in the snow?) but eventually we talked her into it. She was way more excited about the snowball-throwing portion of the morning. She squealed and tried like hell to make her own ball while Te & I had a quick war – which I won, of course, having superior aim and speed. (Okay, so I got hit in the face one time, BIG DEAL).

NO, we didn’t throw snowballs at the kid – or if we did, it was just enough to make her feel included, and not hard. And despite the photograph evidence proving otherwise, she was wearing mittens for the duration.

PS: If snowmen – er, women – could come to life, that one would kick our butts for giving her a huge, lopsided carrot nose.

One of the sad truths about me is that I really suck at money management. About the time I find myself in possession of a dollar, it’s well on it’s way to being spent. A good portion of the time I’ve already spent my dollars before I actually have them. I’m hopeless. I hate being broke and stressing about money more than almost anything, and yet I continue to make decisions that end with my digging frantically for change so I can buy milk. MILK.

I make good money. I’m not rich or anything, but I should always be able to afford milk (and eggs, and every other food) when I need to. I should never have to scrounge for nickels and dimes and duck my head sheepishly to avoid making eye contact with the clerk because I just HAD to have that book or those shoes or that night out on the town.

My mother was equally bad at handling finances (of course, she was doing so when floating a check was a viable possibility, before the digital age neatly removed the option), and while I’d like nothing more than to lay the blame for my financial irresponsibility with her I can’t. She died long before I ever wrote my first check, and my sister is great with money. She saves what she can, and whenever she does spend it’s usually after careful deliberation.

I’ll be twenty-eight at the end of the month, and I’m ashamed (deeply ashamed) to say that I still go through cash like I’m sixteen. I have ZERO dollars saved. The nail-biting and coin-hunting has got to stop. I feel a New Years resolution coming on.

It’s probably not that hard to put away a little money from every paycheck, right? (Lie to me). My insurance company takes a chunk before I ever see the damn deposit slip, and I never miss that. I want to have a nice, tidy amount set aside for potential emergencies or disasters, and NOT for fabulous shoes. I can and will do this. It’s time to be a grown up in this particular area of my life.

Maybe I should get a second job.

Last night was Saturday, and for the first time in a long time I was supposed to be on a date. I bought a flattering black sweater, I got my hair to cooperate, I looked reasonably attractive. I was excited about having prime rib and engaging conversation with a man who’s company I enjoy. All systems were go. Or so I thought.

He called. We chatted. He made no reference to the date, but continued to make small talk. Which drove me slowly crazy, because I don’t like talking on the damn phone to start with, and I kept wondering why we were carrying on via telephone when we could be at a table, face to face.

I finally asked him what time he wanted to meet, and he balked. There’s no better word for it. He cleared his throat and made some mention of my plans for Christmas and New Years. He inquired about December in general. I remain stupefied.

Basically, he didn’t want to go. And he gave no reason other than that in itself. The date was originally scheduled for the previous evening, but he ended up helping a friend who’s basement was flooding – and I completely understand. We rescheduled, for last night – but then he cancelled.

Worst of all, I’m on my period. I’m bloated. I feel ugly and undesirable, but I made the effort. I got dolled up and took some Advil for the cramps and put on a happy face. I wanted good food and good company. Instead, I got the ever so pleasant all-dressed-up-with-nowhere-to-go sensation.

I sat around for a while, considering my options.

Option 1: Suck it up. Make the best of the situation. Translated = Ask grandmother (yes, you heard me) to dinner so that preparations and the good food portion of the evening don’t go to waste.

Option 2: Feel sorry for self. Get back into sloppy pajamas, eat ice cream. Loathe men in general. Speculate that ice cream intake will make fat ass even larger, and thus increase undesirable factor. Refuse to care.

Option 3: Call sister and friends to bitch about men and dating in general.

Option 4: Be an adult, and get over it.

I think we all know Option 4 was out of the question before I wrote it down. So I tried Option 1, but my grandma didn’t want to participate, and eating alone in public where everyone else’s date showed up seemed too depressing. I settled on Option 3, but no one was answering their phones. Anyone want to hazard a guess as to why? OH YEAH. Because it was Saturday fucking night, and they all had people they were spending time with. My only recourse was to dive straight into Option 2, but I didn’t actually eat ice cream. Not because I worried about fat intake, but because the weather here is below freezing and ice cream seemed like a bad idea at the time. Instead, I got into my sloppy gym clothes and worked out for an hour. I sweated and mumbled insulting things about anyone sporting a Y chromosome and consoled myself with the knowledge that my butt was probably shrinking instead of growing.

I’m still sort of bummed. I hate feeling rejected. I especially hate making plans for something and then having them fall through. And I really, really hate wondering if I did something to cause his change of mind.

I think I’ll just go back to bed until the new year.

* I got an alarming message about my domain name and required payments, under threat of the site expiring. Bad timing all around.

* I renamed Archimedes. She’s Clio now, and to tell the truth she responds better to being yelled at in shorter, more concise words – like her name. Heh.

* I couldn’t find my Christmas tree or ornaments anywhere. I searched and searched, high and low, near and far. I had to buy new ones today, and luckily it wasn’t incredibly bank-breaking. Okay, it hurt a little.

* But now I’m basking in holiday spirit. My house has Christmas in every corner, nook & cranny. There’s even a zesty reindeer doormat I got last year on clearance after the season was over. I feel like an elf, but with better shoes.

* I finished my seventh complete journal. I keep a personal record, on paper, for my own sanity. (It’s theraputic). I’m ridiculously excited to start my 8th one, which is gorgeous blue & black leather. Mmm, leather.

* I found two books I’ve been dying to read at the library, NO PURCHASE NECESSARY! They were right up front, which was handy, because for someone who loves to read & write I can’t be bothered with alphabetical shelving.

* I bought a cute black sweater for my dinner date tomorrow night. It’s a turtle neck, which I would normally hate because they’re evil and constricting, but it was the only top the store had that didn’t emphasize my extra stomach flesh. I also bought a festive green t-shirt that says, “Be naughty. Save Santa a trip.” Also, saves me the trouble of being nice.

That about caps the last week.