I thought, why not repeat that again this year? If it ain’t broke, you know?
So, months in advance, I was happy to secure the band and the venue. This year was going to be even better because the band’s guitarist was graciously letting me be Birthdayzilla by requesting that certain songs make the set list, while others not so much. (“Stacy’s Mom” does not have it going on in my book.)
I also bought two of these:
Also, since I blew it last year and didn’t take advantage of my pull with the band by requesting “Smells Like Teen Spirit” for Neighbor and me to dance on a table to, I made certain it would make the cut this year. “Not a problem,” Guitarist had said with a smile.
All was looking golden, and I couldn’t be more excited.
My neighbor did an exceedingly excellent job of making me feel special on my birthday. (Darn her!) I was quite nervous as to how I could possibly return the favor. Then I realized the solution was simple.
This is what I get for not keeping up with Swinged Cat‘s posts. Turns out, I read several days later, my birthday coincided with the 30th anniversary of the release of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” When the band came the first time and played that song, Neighbor and I spontaneously combusted in unison even though no one else was dancing. I told her this time we needed to up our game by dancing on a table. Even *I* thought that was crazy, but she was up for it!
This might be one of those situations were my neighbor is secretly a spy or a superhero, like I won’t know until I accidentally see her take off her mask when she thinks no one is watching after she’s just saved someone from a mugging.
Anyway, back to the song, it wasn’t played. 😦 After she left, another friend asked me to request “500 Miles.” So, between songs, I walked up to the singer and said, “I’ve been requested to ask if you’d play ‘500 Miles.'” They made that the very next song. Apparently I had some pull. Why, oh why, did I not just ASK them to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit”? Again, IF I had read M’s post, I would’ve asked them to play it in honor of the anniversary. Missed opportunity! Next time, I suppose, unless, now having read this, Hubby says to me, “Uh, no, honey. No dancing on tables.” Drat!
Remember the Betsy tattoos? Here’s a slideshow of my neighbor applying one to Hubby’s fun-loving Colombian coworker.
Previously, I posted about The Band that came in December. I’d been trying to get them back ever since. Finally, amazingly, I managed to book them for my birthday!
When we arrived late, I was relieved the band hadn’t started yet. The guitarist, my point of contact, told me on arrival that when he had asked his bandmates if they should start on time, the bassist said, “But Betsy isn’t here yet.” First of all, honored, secondly, the bassist knew and remembered who I was?!
The music was terrific, as, of course, I knew it would be. Remembering that I love Pearl Jam, they played three PJ songs for me. Literally. After one, someone in the band said into the mic, “That was for Betsy.” Then, at the first set break, I pulled out what I’d been saving since April! Behold:
No, not that bird. Not chickens. Not this time. (But soon.)
My friend, M, and I have this thing about flamingos and birthdays. All too late I realized it would be fun to buy flamingos to put in her yard. (Much later I remembered there are companies that do this for you, but oh well.)
Amazon told me the birds would arrive the day AFTER her birthday, but often they only SAY that. Then later I get an email saying, “Your order will arrive early!” as though they are the most amiable, benevolent massive corporation ever.
I was banking on that email. And it came! Telling me the birds would arrive ON her birthday, but that was too late to have them on her lawn by the time she got up in the morning.
Plan B: Construct your own flamingo.
Step 1: Go to Hubby’s work and scour it for large cardboard.
Step 2: Enlist artistic daughters to draw and paint flamingo on cardboard.
Maybe two months ago, this older gentleman at the store was stocking shelves near me. Something I needed was on the top shelf out of my reach. I said to him, “You’re tall. Would you mind reaching that for me?”
He responded, “AND handsome. People always forget the handsome part.”
I laughed and thanked him for retrieving my animal cookies. I mean, uh, something much cooler like ostrich beef jerky.
Anyway, I passed him today and remarked, “You know, you’re tall AND handsome.”
“And handsome,” he said. “That’s right. People always forget that.”
“I didn’t forget,” I said.
“No, you didn’t. Thank you. That made my weekend.”
The son of my neighbor left his flip flops at my house, so I slipped on the mask to return them.
“Jim”, “Pam,” and son were outside admiring Jim’s new work truck when I walked up, slid the shoes onto the tailgate and backed away.
Before I explain what happened next, you should know that Pam and I had a long running joke involving me texting her the ninja emoji. It probably had to do with the time she let me sneak into her house for a cup of sugar.
What happened after this little shoe drop off is explained in this text I sent Pam soon after.