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I wasn't really expecting all that much for my birthday this year. After all, I am not turning a paticularly eventful age and I happen to have a birthday at the most boring time of year possible.

As if it were a gift from God, there were NO customers at work. Not one. This left me to revel in my birthday girl status quite liberally. This morning, my sisters brought me coffee and work and decorated my desk. This included streamers, confetti, party crowns, flowers and a adorable mini cake that I almost set on fire with all my candles. I was called and sung happy birthday to by friends, family, a father in Nova Scotia, ex-boyfriends and current crushes. I was given a Siamese fighting fish, adorable underwear, a diamond ring, a candle I have been coveting for a year, an iPod mini, tickets to a Switchfoot concert, two books, a calender and money. I was sung to various times and given many birthday wishes. I recieved cards from my grandparents, step-grandmother and other relatives. I was amazed at the outpouring of love from people I didn't even know liked me.

The only thing that was missing? A happy birthday wish from my mother. The woman who allowed all this to happen. The woman who chose to give birth to me instead of aborting me like the doctors advised. The person who struggled through hours of home labor to bring me into this world. The person who gave me a birthday.She doesn't believe in birthday's anymore.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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