Where Is My Party that I don’t Want
Let me just start this by saying I don’t want anybody throwing me a surprise birthday party after they read this. I hate surprise parties, although I am always looking for one around my birthday. I am positive that someone will eventually throw me one, even though I don’t want it. This is some form of mental illness, I am pretty sure.
A few years back, a boyfriend took me up to Santa Barbara to get my birthday present. Once we arrived, I kept looking around for friends hiding behind fountains, clustered in restaurant windows, waiting for the birthday girl. By the time we got to a shoe store where he had special ordered me some hiking sandals, I was disappointed. No party? What a clod he was not to throw me a party. Sandals, shmandals!
But there it is, in some dark recess of my DNA, some past incarnation, this soul is waiting for a party.
Or I am just a pain in the ass. A contrarian, my mother calls me. I want something, until I get it, and then I don’t want it. In fact, sometimes I even hate it.
Yesterday I went to have a birthday brunch with my sister and her family and my boys. I fully expected my parents to have somehow magically shown up. Even though they live almost two hours away and getting around is not so easy any more.
Teaching Spin, the few members who walk out early are not leaving to get a spot in their next favorite class, they are actually arranging my little surprise party outside of the spin room.
I am dying to be invited to the party that I don’t want to go to. I am diligent, and full of expectation. It’s sort of like watching for the cop when you know you’re driving too fast. You don’t really want to see him, but you know he could be anywhere, so you have to pay attention.
I have always been contrary. I have moved across the country twice. I have been married and divorced. My kids are lucky I don’t switch them out for new ones. I got dressed up for birthday brunch yesterday in a little black dress and had looney tunes band aids on my feet in full view, to prevent blisters from the pumps I barely ever wear. My sister mentioned the band aids added a nice bit of color. I want people to pay attention to me and when they do, I want them to stop.
So I managed my expectations yesterday. Relieved at the end of the day that the surprise party did not arrive, just as it hasn’t in years past. I understand that my want for things that I don’t want is some wort of mental condition, and that other people understand and accept me for all of my foibles.
I also think it’s part of wanting to be loved, and boy do I know I am loved. I got a bazillion well wishes on facebook, some phone time with my beloved friend Valerie, time and giggles with my family. But I think it might be human to keep looking for the party.