It's been a while since I've wanted to post an angry blog entry, and I was going to refrain because ragging on grandmothers isn't exactly classy, but when has classy ever been what I'm going for?
My grandma called me today, to ask me how prom and everything went this weekend, which I guess was nice. I was really expecting her to call tomorrow, seeing as tomorrow is my 18th Birthday. I guess she also called to appologize for not coming to my graduation, but the dragon of anger that is my resentment towards distance and laziness was barely satiated by this. I really don't see how hard it is to come to ONE special event for me. My grandparents saw my brother Three Times in the past year because he is now Private First Class La Bombard and not just The Pot Smoker Who Dropped Out Of College Twice, unlike I, who was merely the Straight A Student Who Was Self Taught Through High School With Little To No Help From Anyone Else And Is Much Less Important Than Someone In The Army. Like really graduating with honors and having a 3.84 GPA and getting into two great schools and the Honor's program in both schools and getting a $14,000 scholarship without even asking isn't enough to get ONE relative to come to my graduation? Admitedly, my brother only had two, and one of them was our crazy aunt, but those people ALSO saw him several times last year. And you know what my grandma said on the phone?
It will be nice to see you and especially to catch up with Brian while we're all in Baltimore. Catch. Up. With. Brian. Especially. I'm really upset. ):
And then I got a card in the mail (Well, two cards, but one of them was a coupon to a store in Asheville that I won't be visiting this month and so will expire before I get to use it) from my grandma. the car was pink, had a yellow bunny on it, ugly font, and made little to no sense because I didn't actually read it. I was excited about the seemingly thick envelope because normally cards from grandma contain a check. This one, however, just had unnessecarily thick paper on the front, as if grandma was trying to smuggle me drugs into prison. I would have been happy with either, but alas I received neither any illicit substances nor any birthday money. And then I realized. I'm Turning Eighteen. that means no more presents at Christmas from my favorite aunt and uncle. Does this also mean no more birthday money? I DON'T GET IT. I can think of very few birthdays as important as 18. The first birthday, of course. Wonderful. A whole year. The 10th birthday, I think is really special. Turning 21 is obviously great. And Turning Eigtheen. I can vote now. I can buy cigarettes and infomercial products and have my own bank account and view internet porn, if I so choose. I can live away from my parents. But I get a bubble gum pink card with an ugly yellow mutated rabbit on it and no money?
Now I guess I should back this anger up with something other than whining. My birthdays have always kind of had a strange twist to them. For example, the year I turned 5 my dad was out of town. At age 9, I celebrated a fake birthday with my friends before we moved about a thousand miles too far away. Things were generally okay until I turned 13. I know it's unlucky, but I was super excited to turn 13. Thirteen is SO much older and more sophisticated than 12, I thought. It has a TEEN at the end, after all. So the week leading up to my birthday I was excited, because my birthday was on a thursday and traditionally thursdays have been excellent days for me. That was all about to change. I woke up to my brother and mom singing happy birthday, which I normally would have loved but on that particular day I wanted to kill them. I was In A Bad Mood. when I got into the shower, I found out why. Period. Attack. That's all I'll say here. I was kind of put off but still excited for my B-Day. However, a few seconds later I woke up on the bathroom floor with no recolection of what had happened except that I passed out and I was alone in the house. A day at the doctor's office later, all I got was some new pens and a plate of brownies that I didn't want to eat. Thanks Mom. I remember that turning 14 was shitty because I had just started homeschooling and it was really strange and different and I felt like nobody cared about me. 15 was alright, and 16 was AWESOME. Why? Not only did I get a FISH and a really nice dinner and reconnect with an old friend in the days leading up to it, I planned my own party. My parents do not plan exciting events for someone as insignificant as their second child. Even on her sweet 16. Anyway, the party was great and I felt ravishing and all of that. (Even if I did have to build a grill [honest to God] in the backyard and it rained anyway.) Then the next year rolled around and it was The Separation. My parents were doing horribly in their relationship and my dad had just moved out and when he came over, again, I received office supplies. (A notebook from CVS) We did go to Tijuana Flats though. Those cookie dough flautas go really well with awkward silences. So this year I'm turning 18 and I have no idea what I want but I just know that if it means I don't get presents anymore I kind of want to turn 17 forever, because I can USE a notebook from CVS, goddamn it.
To further this whine fest just a little bit more, I'd like to bring up the issue of Surprise Parties. I remember once as a kid we had a surprise birthday party for my dad. I was maybe three and a half and it was also the night that I had my pinky crushed under a day bed and was locked out of my own room and tormented by older boys, but I still really really thought it was HOT SHIT and wanted my own Surprise Party. I've asked my parents for a Surprise Party every year. They always ask me where I want it, what I want it to be like, and I just say SURPRISE ME. And every year, I kind of expected it to happen. (Especially on the years that sucked.) And every year has passed without it happening. I asked again this year, as is my tradition, and as is her tradition, my mom asked me where I wanted it to be and what I wanted it to be like. I said SURPRISE ME, but I'm not keeping my hopes up.
In Other News I really feel like blogging like a real blogger with words and just pictures so here's a nice long wordy post to get you started, right? If anyone out there actually read all of this, I don't really hate my grandmother. I just love her so much I want to see her more often. And my parents only screwed me up a little bit by never giving me a surprise party. Also- I fucking love birthdays. Tomorrow I am turning 18.
To make it so that this is not just me ranting about birthdays, I'm also going to include pictures of my that I've taken on each birthday. Or close to each birthday. Yes, I AM that egotistical.
I'm sorry. I was turning 16. I liked to take myspace pictures of myself. A lot.
This was the year I turned 17 and I went to an after prom party a few days before my birthday so OF COURSE I had to take a picture of myself in a swim suit. LOOK. I have two eyes!
WOW. It's vertical. And somebody else took the picture. And I'm not quite a cyclops but I do still have side bangs. Hm... maybe I need to change my hair style. This was taken at prom on the 1st. Close enough.
Anyway, that's that. nothing related to Look Up, the theme of
NaBloPoMo but that's okay.
