Grange sent me an e-mail last week instructing me not to open my present more than 24 hours before my birthday, VinNay sent me a text on Wednesday commanding that I open my present immediately, @Jnassi tweeted (on twitter, bite me, Fischel) Saturday night that I needed to open my present so that his wife would stop complaining that I refused to open my present. I giggled. I love my friends.
Sometimes I wish I had a giant swivel chair in my livingroom, like Dr. Evil. No cat though. Cause they WILL eat your face.
Ah, where was I? Swiveling in my mental chair on Saturday evening, drinking wine and hoarding wrapped presents. Actually, I acceded to VinNay’s request because he was going on vacation for my birthday and wouldn’t be around to text me or facebook me happy birthday on my actual birthday, so since I was never going to speak to him ever again, I figure we’d have a lovely Friday send off of reading passages from RA Dickey’s autobiography and putting wine glasses on my Game of Thrones coasters. I’m not exactly sure what one does with Smurfs figurines, but I do have a primer on how to ensure that I am not eaten by them.
With VinNay now being dead to me, I spent Saturday with my mother for our annual, “it’s my birthday why am I taking you out to dinner” meal. Seriously, some people give birth to you ONE time and they never let you forget it!
Actually, my mom got me a pretty kick ass gift:
I’m going back to apple school to figure out how to use it. (I got the “lojack” for my Ipad 3 and ended up locking myself out of it and having it take a picture of me trying to get back in. Oy.)
BAH, this story is SO out of order now!
Back to Saturday night chair swiveling… after @jnassi’s tweet, I went to open @thisisnotapril’s present, but there wasn’t one. I went downstairs where my doorman startled awake after I did that smooth “excuse me”/throat clearing gesture.
“Yes, huh? What? Sorry.”
“Do you have any packages for Apt. 12Z.” He looks around and starts to shake his head no, when he stops and goes “oh yeah, over here. He walks over to the side wall. Leaning against the pillar is the largest box I have ever seen AND it has my name on it!
I pick it up, using my knees, just like the handbook says, and head back upstairs. But when I check the label, it’s not from @thisisnotapril at all. So I tweet back to @jnassi that their present didn’t get there yet. She writes back that it was delivered that afternoon.
I head back downstairs, me and Rip Van Doorman go through the mailroom again. Nothing. “Is there somewhere else where things might be put?”
He shakes his head, looks around and again and pulls out a package CLEARLY marked *11* Z and hands it to me.
I give him my best sideeye. DUDE. *12* TWWEEELLLLVVVEEEE.
“Oh, right,” he shakes his head, “There’s nothing else ma’am.”
Did this dude just MA’AM me? *GLARE*
I go back upstairs and deliver the bad news to April.
“NOOOO! I had a guy hand deliver cupcakes from Robicelli’s this afternoon. He left it with the doorman.”
Okay, funny side story — cause, what the hell, linear narration has NEVER been my strong suit — a month ago, when I started my crazy cupcake madness again, I decided to try all the cupcake places in New York that I’d never tried. Vanilla/vanilla cupcakes had lost their allure and I was searching for a replacement obsession. Snaps has long sang the praises of Robicelli’s, so I figured I would go. I looked up the address and it was in the Atlantic Center complex (where the new Brooklyn Nets will play. GO BROOKLYN NETS! WOO! (I’m practicing for Basketball season. Whenever that is. Because I’m a huge Brooklyn Nets fan. Their basketball play is the best of all the basketball playing. In the Basketball playing league. WOO. Brooklyn Nets!) Anyway, I roam the Atlantic Center and no cupcake place. Grrr. Turns out they’ve temporarily moved to some temporary spot (or they’re in the temporary spot until they move permanently to Atlantic Center, I dunno. One of those.) So I go to the address for the temporary spot 362 Dekalb. I park and walk the block: 368 Dekalb, 364 Dekalb, 358 Dekalb, 350 Dekalb… um… what now?
I walk back.
350 Dekalb, 358 Dekalb, 364 Dekalb, 368 Dekalb, my car.
THE HELL. I do it again. I cross the street. I walk back, round the corner, just in case 362 Dekalb is really on Willoughby. Because… um… I dunno.
It’s not. I wonder if maybe you’re supposed to say Robicelli’s three times and then the shop appears… Nope. Maybe you have to say it backwards.
I give up.
And now April has sent Robicelli’s cupcakes via messenger and they’ve disappeared? These are some damn hell ass Merlin Hogwarth’s desserts, I tells ya!
The birthday cupcakes mystery adventure was afoot! Well, it would be tomorrow anyway, I had wine to finish and presents to open!
I organized all my boxes and tried to figure out which ones were just crap that I had ordered from Amazon myself, versus real presents.
I had gotten one present that was all wrapped in shiny blue paper and tied with a yellow ribbon. That one I left on my television stand because everyone should have a prettily wrapped present to open on their birthday and Christmas.
At around 11:15, I was totally ready for my gift opening spree… but with 45 more minutes to go, I figured I’d try to crack the missing cupcakes case one more time — because now I knew what I was looking for.
I headed downstairs.
“So, sorry to bother you again, but can you just double check one more time?” He sighs and spins his chair around.
SEE? I NEED THAT SWIVEL ACTION IN MY APARTMENT!
I immediately see a cake box sitting on the counter.
“What’s that brown box?”
He slides over to it.
“Oh yeah, it came this afternoon,” he says picking it up.
I glare at him like he has never been glared at before. I GLARE AT HIM BUT GOOD!
Now, in his defense “Apt. 12Z” was only faintly written on the box in (of all things) red pen ink and the only name on it was “From: April.” But in his NOT defense, HE WAS THE ONE WHO HAD WRITTEN 12Z FAINTLY ON THE BOX IN (OF ALL THINGS) RED PEN INK.
He is also the only black doorman my building employs. Sigh. SSSSSSSIIIIIIIIGGGGGGHHHHHHH.
Anyway, case cracked, cupcake halfway to mouth, I shared the good news with April and ran out the clock on however old I used to be and eagerly awaited however old I was going to be!
At exactly midnight, Fisch texted me happy birthday, winning the birthday derby for the first time since 2007. I IMMEDIATELY opened the shiny blue paper wrapped one!
It was a ‘Life of Brian’ DVD from TAE! YAY!
Then, Grange’s present — two awesome shirts — one of which has immediately become a Dawn Summers’ favorite!
Alceste and Dawn 2 got me a fancy case for my Kindle Fire and they (and Mary) got me gift certificates for Kindle books. (My new passion is yelling at amazon on twitter about how expensive their stupid digital books are even though you can’t lend them or resell them later. GRRRR)
And then I started to open the gigantic box in the middle of my livingroom. I decided it must be Zac Efron folded in half and wanted to get him out of there safely!
I am tugging at the mailing tape, ripping and unwinding it off the box’s edges.
The doorbell rings… it’s Fisch! He is carrying a thin super tall box, halfway wrapped!
He leans it against the kitchen wall and sits down. I continue trying to open the huge box.
He watches. And watches. Now laughs.
“What? I can’t help you open your birthday presents. There are rules.”
“I hate you.”
“Happy Birthday, Dawn”
I finally get the box flaps open:
Fisch laughs. I start peeling the tape from the inner box. I am now certain that Laura has just mailed me a series of smaller and smaller impossibly taped boxes.
“Okay, I’ll open your present now, instead,” I say to Fisch.
“Nope. My present is going to be the best! Open whatever that is first and get the disappointment out of the way.”
I laugh. He just enjoys watching me struggle.
Eventually, I get to the last tape strip AND THEN he hands me a butter knife.
Fuck yo couch.
I get the flaps on the internal box open and I’m greeted by a ton of bubble wrap. Fisch helps me slide the bubble wrapped thing out of the box.
“Looks like kitchen utensils, I think” I say as we move it over to the couch.
I start to unravel the bubble wrap…. OH. MY. GOD.
Okay. Now keep repeating that for like twelve and a half minutes and you might kinda sorta come close to my reaction.
AN AUTOGRAPHED TOM BRADY HELMET! AUTOGRAPHED BY TOM BRADY!!! WITH A TOM BRADY PLATE ON THE TOM BRADY HELMET!
Fisch is also totally floored and he’s all “um… yeah, never mind. I’m going to take my present back and give it to you at Christmas. This is not fair.”
I laugh. Then faint again.
I have to move. My apartment is not good enough for Tom Brady’s signature! I have to buy a mansion now. We figure out the best place to put it, in my crappy not good enough apartment, (this may have involved knocking over framed pictures of my niece and nephew).
“Okay, okay gimmeee your present!”
Actually, opening Fisch’s present was also a two person job. I peer instead and there is a coiled object inside:
“OOh! Is it twister??!”
I have also been obsessed with playing twister lately. I remember playing it once at camp and it was so fun. But I suppose twister is not really a game that you can play as an adult, but I want it anyways!
“No, it’s not twister. BE CAREFUL, don’t rip it!”
Sheesh. Fisch is bossy.
We finally get it out of the corrugated triangle box and….
YAY! A Tom Brady fathead!
(Incidentally, this is the best picture of Fischel I have ever taken!)
This is the second best:
(We ended up playing Scrabble and even though he tried to crush my spirit, I beat him. He then smiled and hammed it up for the picture so that people would think he won, but I pointed out that I wouldn’t *post* the picture unless he had lost, so that crushed his spirit and I laughed!)
In the morning, I had brunch with Dawn 2, Alceste and Mary. I ordered a mimosa for my birthday and the bartender was all “I can’t serve alcohol yet.”
DUDE. W.T.F? Evidently, New York has some no alcohol before noon on Sundays law… DUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I don’t know if President Obama knows about this, BUT HE’S ABOUT TO! After brunch, we went to see Brave at the Court street movie theater.
At some point in the movie, one of the characters says “where’s the birthday girl,” and I was all “here I am! here I am!”
Shut up. I’m awesome. You’re weird.
I’m going to go stare at my Tom Brady helmet now.