I'm surrounded by idiots

Work is officially pushing me over the edge. I've been so busy that I haven't had a second to post. (I haven't posted in the evenings at home because I can't type with one hand, and I simply refuse to put down my wine glass until bedtime.)

I'm so fried right now that I'm struggling to find something to say that doesn't take a couple expletives to describe. Say for instance this morning when I suggested 11:00am PST as a good time for a conference call with our New York office, only to have the ACCOUNTING clerk on the other end of the phone say,"11:00 am PST....so what time that would be in New York???"

Last weekend a friend came over and between her, my husband and I we drank 4 bottles of wine. That pretty much left me useless the rest of the weekend save for a manicure that was desperately needed. So this weekend I plan to actually see the light of day. (Well sorta.) The girls and I are going to see Marie Antoinette at our fancy Hollywood theater, followed by what else? French Martinis!

(No, not cake- haven't you been paying attention?)

My birthday is next Wednesday. I'm having mixed feelings. My mother and I share the same birthday, and she's always hated to acknowledge her age, so every year it was just about me me me! Which is great! Until you hit your late 20s-30s. Now it just seems silly to get excited about a birthday. Or to assume it's any more special than any other day. I mean, who celebrates 32?

When I was a kid, 32 sounded ANCIENT. I couldn't even wrap my head around it- couldn't imagine myself that age at all. I've always had this fear of getting older- even when I was young. I turned 18 and was content to stay there forever.

I know, scary right?

On my nineteenth birthday my mom got me a "Quick n' Easy Chicken" recipe book. Seems like a good choice for a daughter who was just out of the dorms and in her first apartment with a kitchen, right?

I cried. Sobbed uncontrollably. I remember my roommate at the time hugging me and trying to console me by saying "it's just a cookbook!" But I knew it wasn't. It was the beginning of adulthood. The beginning of self-reliance. The beginning of taking responsibility for myself. The beginning of many many more years of (GASP) having to face the consequences of my actions.

I know what you're thinking. I should be washing down some crazy pills with my wine at night. Maybe? Maybe it WAS just a cookbook. Hell, now I collect em'! I guess my point is every year that passes I'm reminded of where I am, where I thought I'd be, where I should be, how much of my life has already passed, what does the future hold? And it scares the crap out of me.

I guess the good news is that I'm not alone. I have an amazing husband, wonderful friends and the most supportive family anyone could ask for. And that is the best birthday present of all.