Blow Me Down

I'm so mad. Irritated and angry. It will pass. Most of it has. Today is my birthday. I was supposed to go to my parents for dinner. Until I called my mother when I left work. She said we were going to go out. When I became sort of pissed about it, she called me a pain in the ass.

Flash forward to dinner wherein she left to pick up my brother and pizza. After a tension filled hour or two, we opened presents. The birthday card, written in my mother's handwriting from the two of them said, "I'm sorry you're unhappy."

W.T.F.

I am so fvcking tired of HER projecting on me. The first thing she gave me was very expensive turquoise blue leather handbag. Turquoise blue? Right. It looked like something she would have bought for herself. If is not a bag or a color I would buy in a million years.

It just blows my spoiled little mind how little my family knows me.

My dad started to twitch about how many 42 year olds even get presents? Meanwhile the entire evening the television is on full blast because he can't detach himself from it for even an hour. I want to wretch.

Yeah, things could be worse and maybe I'm an ingrate. Whatever.

My brother, who I share my birthday with, bought me an assortment of Packer related paraphanalia. They're right, I'll never forget it. Because it is a BIG W.T.F.

I think for my mother's birthday I'll get her every Smith's CD. For my dad, new Under Armour cold weather compression running gear. And for my brother, a framed matted print of the US Women's Olympic Lacrosse team.

Sounds perfect. Will it blow over? Only if I kiss ass to the projector and apologize. I'm just not up for that at the moment. And I cannot wait to run tomorrow night. Bye bye.