It's my birthday?

Well, today isn't my birthday. But it's only days away.

And I've hardly given it any thought. A small handful of people have asked what I'm doing or what the plans are.

The truth? There are no birthday-related plans. My birthday isn't really a big deal ever. And it's certainly not a big deal this year.

The funny part, though, my parents haven't mentioned it once. Part of me thinks they have no idea it's on Saturday. Mom will probably remember the day of. Dad's missed it before. Not that it matters.

I've got other things to think about. Like shooting my own bridal portraits this weekend (with the help of my stepsister and aunt, thankfully--an aspiring photographer and an art director). And on my actual birthday, no less.

So there. That's my birthday plan. Being a model. Wearing my full bridal getup for the first time. Feeling beautiful and running around in my shiny shoes. Not bad, right?

I think that's the best way to celebrate entering the late twenties. I'm looking forward to it.

Just butt out and say, "Thank you," when it's over.

There are several reasons I wanted to elope. But I was overruled with fierceness.

So now I'm running myself to the bone trying to please everyone. Trying to please people whose opinions don't really matter because they aren't getting married at this thing. Trying to please people with HUGE opinions so early in the process, that they really just get in the way. Just hinder the overall process.

I really just want to shout, "Hey, butt out. If you weren't involved until the day of, until you're lifting a forkfull of beef to your mouth, then you'd have no opinions other than, 'Hmm. Good.'"

Because it's true. People are insane critics for no reason because we give them the option to be. If they would just butt the fuck out and wait until the end, they'd have no idea what they're missing. They'd only see the pretty colors, taste the delicious food, and dance to the hopping music.

But instead, they labor over stupid shit. Like the silvertone of the forks. Or the creases ironed into the table cloths. Or even how the programs will look in pictures.

The bride isn't concerned. She just wants to dance with her husband, raise a glass, and make some memories.

Can't you all just let her do that?

Why so blue, iTunes?

Years ago, the iTunes icon was green.

I loved that little green icon. It had a way of standing out against my blue Safari icon, the blue iChat icon, the blue Word icon, and the blue Preview icon.

I knew that if I wanted to flood my cubicle with tunes, that I should look for green. It took no time at all.

Then one day, iTunes had an update. That update, along with adding fun new gizmos to my favorite music program, changed the icon's main color from green to blue.

This was over three years ago. And to this day, I still look for that small shock of green when I want music.

All of the conditioning, all of the days of knowing that it's blue now haven't helped. It's imbedded into my brain that iTunes is green.

So just now, when I wanted to hear the soft crooning of my favorite musical artists, I searched for green amidst the sea of blue. And then I remembered that I  should be looking for blue among the sea of blue.

Alas. I miss green.

I hate award shows.

Nothing bores me quite as much as watching award shows.

Well, maybe watching the movie "the Fall." That was pretty damn boring, too. Beautiful, but slow as frozen molasses waiting on Christmas.

But I'm not griping about the pacing of art films. I'm griping about how watching people I'll never meet endlessly say thank you to other people I'll never meet. Sure, sometimes the outfits are cool, but I can see those on the internet.

And I could really give two flaming farts about who wins best picture. It's not going to change my opinion about the movie. I'll still like it or hate it based on my own awesome ranking system:

Did it entertain me? yes/no
Was I bored? yes/no
Am I mad that I just spent 8 bucks watching it? yes/no

And award shows (which are not movies, but usually about them) get all of the wrong answers in my little test. So I don't watch them (unless Cooter is watching them; he, unlike me, cares and we only have one TV).

Geez. An award show is on right now. And it's so boring that I can't even concentrate to write this rant. Fail.

Are we haikuing again?

Once upon a time,

The Queen of Awesome blog-ged

“Haikus have returned!”

---

I am now engaged.

This means I’m getting married.

To my Cooter Brown.

---

I hear, first comes love.

Then I hear, then comes marriage.

Let’s wait for babies.

---

I write about food.

I write about food a lot.

Perhaps I should eat.

---

Let’s go to London.

Then, let’s go to Ireland.

Honeymoon hooray!

---

Had someone told me

That I would marry ginger

I would laugh out loud.

But I’m going to

Marry a real gingerman

He’s sweet like candy.

---

A shotgun wedding

Would make my parents angry

How about rifle?

Kidding. I’m not preg.

No ginger kids for me yet.

Or ever. Strong genes!

I write this for the avocado.

Oh, sweet little avocado. Sweet, plump, humble little avocado.

Your subtle, creamy greenness improves everything I eat.

I even made cookies out of you once, and they were delicious.

You blend in so well with dips. You add gentle flair to sandwiches. You're even a soft standout in soups.

You're the perfect food, avocado.

Now, get in my mouth!