Today is the dh’s birthday.  I have nothing planned for him for today.  I suggested he take tomorrow off and we’d do something uber cool with the boy.  It’s going to cost us over $60 to even walk in the doors of the uber coolness that is the MD Science Center but it will be worth it.  His present is getting to spend time with us.  He really doesn’t get to do it enough and the burden of cost was lightened a little by his parents.  They surprised him at his work, took him to lunch and gave the obligatory card but included cash.  I’m happy that they did this, he seemed happy to have spent time with them and talk with his dad.

BUT

I won’t lie, I’m annoyed that I’m sitting here on the couch watching the dog chase her butt and the boy pretending to shop at Walmart.  Let me tell you, I live the life baby. 

Now, dh’s birthday has had me thinking anyways.  For my birthday last year, I was given a karaoke machine.  No, wait scratch that.  I was told I was getting a karaoke machine.  He never actually bought it, claiming that it was such a personal gift that he wanted to make sure I had all the features I wanted.  Ok, so Christmas rolls around and that is about when he finally ordered the thing.  We hooked it up and it was broken.  He is still driving around with the thing in his car, fighting with Ace Karaoke to get the machine replaced.  Some advice, don’t go through Ace Karaoke for your drunken entertainment needs.  I finally told him the other night he should just return it.  I didn’t say it in a mean way, just a “you know what, you might as well just return that thing”.  Yes, I’m aware that I sound like I just walked down the mountain when I compose sentences out loud.  That’s not what we’re talking about right now, so shh. 

I’m not sure how this happens but I always put more into his birthday and occasions than he does.  It’s not a contest and I’m not doing it just to see how it benefits me.  I do it because I want to do these things and I love seeing the smile on his face when he gets something that he’s been longing for.  When I gave him the acoustic guitar for our anniversary, the look on his face as he pulled it out of the box, started tuning and strumming was priceless.  There was no look on my face at any point because I didn’t get anything for our anniversary. 

For my birthday in 2005, he bought me a beautiful cake, pink with roses and my proper name spelled out.  NO ONE calls me by that and EVERYONE wanted to know why he did it.  Our anniversary then?  I can’t even remember.  Our 5th anniversary in 2002, oh that was a treat.  I gave him a stainless steel Bulova watch with a blue dial and he gives me a stack of wood.  He had designed a custom doll case to hold a porcelain doll.  The problem was, it wasn’t finished it in time and still hasn’t been. 

So, again, why do I do it?  Because I care about the man, I love him more than I could ever imagine caring for a person that I didn’t have a blood tie too.  Does this mean he doesn’t aggravate the hell out of me and make me feel like crap when he “forgets” or “run out of time”?  Of course not.  If anything, it gets me more-so.  I’d say that I could stop caring but I worry so much that it would hurt him if I forgot that I could never do it. 

 I suppose one of these days I’ll figure it out. 

I recently started a blog for my family.  Mind you, it was about 4 years later than I promised but I did it, what more do you want?  Anyway, in the process of setting up the page, I came across a dilemma.  Ok, not necessarily a dilemma but an annoyance that created a dilemma.  It also provided an opportunity for that ugly beast Hypocrisy to raise her head.  I know she’s a she.  Has to be, now just bear with me.

Anyways, I can only be so clever with what I have and what I have is a last name that is 4 letters long and easily found in a book.  Any attempts at brain power were thwarted by people who apparently have cyber-ADD.  I mumbled, muttered and moaned every time one of my cute and clever titles came back as “unavailable”.  As the female of the species is more inquisitive than the male, I proceeded to find out who had the audacity to take away my potential blog title.

Weeeeellllllllllll, it would seem that blog-making is a decision made on a whim and lasts no longer than the first post that details how the user is so excited to finally be on the web with one of those blog things that everyone is raving on.  Then nothing. Nada, zilch, zip, finito?  No, not finito because it’s still hanging there!  Blogs from January 2005 just taking up space with their lonely posts on standard issue templates.  It’s sad really.

So sad in fact that I became nostalgic and was reminded of this little place online called Vox.  I have a poor sense of direction and a short attention span.  This is how I found Vox. With one haphazard click, I begin a downward spiral that will end up pages and hours away from where I innocently started on a fairly regular basis.  Fairly regular being daily.

Since a great fear in life is being hypocritical I rushed over to Vox’s website and attempted to log in.  I just had one itsy problem and that is that I have neglected to remember the password, email account, screen name and so on and I guess that’s ok since I never even made the aforementioned introductory post.  At this point, Hypocrisy was sent to the naughty mat and I said “to hell with it” and dragged myself back over to Blogger which resulted in disaster.  The word hell was paired with the word handbasket and I had no choice but to delete and come to WordPress.  A certain level of anonymity is required here as you will soon understand. 

I have no idea what this blog will be for.  I make no promises other than I will ramble on to my own discontent.  I’m a happy person but I have issues and since I’m not ready to fix my own I worry more about the issues of those around me.  I have avoidance finessed in ways that some can only dream.

There was a time I would write and I have come to another time in my life where I need to write.  Unfortunately and I’m still concerned how this came to be but my personal writings became a burden to those around me.  Ironically those around me were the ones driving me to write.  They felt I needed to express myself since they could see the stress literally boring an infectious path through my insides.  So I wrote and they didn’t like what they read, in some cases without permission, and told me that I had no right.

Maybe tomorrow we can talk about my guilt.