2000-12-04 - 986029266

On the internal soundtrack: "Don't Let Me Down", Beatles.

So, as of yesterday (12/3) at 3:33 pm (how d'ya like all those 3s?), I am twenty-nine years old. For the first time since I turned 24, my age is a prime number again.

When I turned 24, I was laying on my future MIL's couch "watching" football and talking to Poindexter, one week before our first kiss. I was discussing with him, among other things, the fact that I liked being 23 and wasn't excited about turning 24. Had nothing to do with my life at those ages, just how much I liked the number.

I said I had liked being 23, and 19, and 17 ... and Poindexter pointed out, "You like prime numbers." And so I do.

My auntie Kay doesn't like odd numbers at all, only evens. I can't stand them, except those divisible by 10. I will like being 30, and then there will be another prime number at 31, and then nothing 'til I'm 37. Although 33 is cool, two threes.

No, I'm not into numerology. I'm just a math geek.

So, my birthday was nice, as far as I care about birthdays, which isn't much. It was a nice day, is all. I got a bug up my ass about cleaning the main floor (kitchen/LR/DR) and did that, then we cooked a bit and made bread, then we stuffed ourselves and watched movies all evening.

My youngest aunt, Marianne, sent me a little miniature clock in the shape of a brushed-gold Volkswagen bug. The clock is on the roof, exactly where a sunroof would be. It is just too cool. I like clocks, and I like VWs, and I like brushed gold so it couldn't have been much better than that.

One thing I hate about birthdays is all the phone calls from relatives. I like that they're thinking of me, but since I can't hear on the phone, this is just an awkward mess with Poindexter translating everything. We were talking about just letting the answering machine pick up, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. Fortunately the only people calling were my immediate family (two calls from the 'rents, since dad is in Belgium this week), Poindexter's parents, and Stacey. Not too bad.

On Saturday I had an rough day for a variety of inconsequential reasons. Murphy's-Law type stuff mixed with my own anal-retentiveness.

Then we watched "Swimming with Sharks", and I got very upset seeing Kevin Spacey get beat up. Poindexter can tell me "It's only a movie!" 'til he's blue in the face, but I'm never going to get desensitized to violence, and don't really think it's something I should aspire to, anyway.

Then on my way to the bathroom, I tweaked Poindexter's nose, which my grandfather does to me every now and then. I got back from the bathroom, sat back down next to Poindexter, and burst into tears. After bawling for a while about Pop-Pop, I decided that since I'm a good girl about saving money and living well within our means, we are allowed to splurge and take the train to NJ (we hate, hate, hate the drive) to see my grandfather even though I will be seeing him at Christmas.

Besides, Poindexter's dad is going to Atlantic City on business again and will be staying at my parents' house that weekend, so it will be fun all around.

So Poindexter and I were talking in the dark before sleep on Friday night:

E: So, what'd you get me for my birthday?

P: I didn't get you anything!

E: Not even a card? Last year you got me a card, even though it was because my mom found it for you.

P: You said you didn't want anything!

E: Well, maybe that's what I said, but you didn't think I really meant it, did you?

P: [starts shrieking incoherently]

E: Calm down, I was kidding. I didn't want anything.

I have not wanted presents from Poindexter for as long as we've been together. [Warning: gag alert] Just having him around, in general, is so fabulous that material gifts seem pointless. Every day is Valentine's Day, and all that. Really. That, plus I'm trying very hard not to let myself get overrun with crap, since I have packrat tendencies. If you ever see me and Poindexter exchanging gifts regularly on holidays and birthdays, you know either I'm rich enough to pay someone else to manage my crap, or our marriage has gone downhill.

People at his office have trouble believing I really mean this. Last Valentine's Day, when everyone was comparing plans and presents for their wives, they kept saying, "She may say that, but she really does want something." He was a little unnerved and had to IM me and make sure I really didn't want anything. Hence the teasing transcribed above.

I don't remember exactly when this happened. Probably in my early 20s. I started hating birthdays because they reminded me of my own mortality. (I'm not afraid of getting old, just of dying.) Generally I wish my birthday would pass unnoticed, although it's nearly impossible to get people to do this, particularly my parents.

I've gotten over the mortality thing, for the time being, but still don't see the fuss about birthdays. Or Valentine's Day. Or anything. So we don't really celebrate them. No presents, no cake, no fussing. I will admit to using my birthday as leverage to get Poindexter to do things he'd balk at otherwise, such as watching "Sarah Plain and Tall" with me while I washed dishes and lettuce yesterday (not at the same time). He kept waiting for Christopher Walken to freak out and murder someone, which of course doesn't happen. But I digress.

Poindexter and I don't even buy each other Christmas presents. Last year we each bought ourselves some gifts and pretended they were from each other, so my parents wouldn't freak out. This year there will be a lot of people there on Christmas morning (Poindexter's parents are coming up) so I doubt we'll bother this year. Unless, of course, we happen to see something we like while we're shopping for other people.

In general, I prefer what are called "Saturday presents". You are out shopping, you see something you know a loved one would like, so you pick it up and get it for them. My brother did this recently -- found a packet of tissues with New Beetles all over them and got them for me. It was cool. But presents you get just because it's someone's birthday, well, there's a chance you won't find anything good, so what's the point of getting them something just for the sake of getting it?

There was a paragraph here about showing y'all a picture of Poindexter, but I got vetoed tonight. Sorry about that. I'm not sure why he doesn't want it, but the Foot Has Spoken so I don't have much choice. :)

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