You see that date right there? Two days until my birthday and I'm still not freaking out over some unachieved goal or mission. Could this mean that maybe, just maybe, I will be drinking this year to celebrate and not to forget? Damn. I don't know what to do with myself. This "having fun" thing you people are always talking about...does it hurt? What about the cost? Do I have to sign over any valuables or first-born daughters? Are batteries included?

OK, so I'm making it sound like my birthday always sucks and I'm ungrateful for those friends in the past who have forcibly taken me out and, despite whatever happened, made me laugh until my sides hurt. Seriously? Those two and a few other people deserves fucking medals for putting up with my shit, year after year. So, thank you. This year, I will shut up about THE FUTURE and my self-worth and just have fun. And now that I've typed that out, all the little Irony Devils are rushing about, planning something horrible that will make me say, "Well, shit. That's the last time I say I'm going to have fun on my birthday." Knock on wood, OK? Hard.

I need to shut up. This is boring me and who cares about my weird birthday issues, right? Right.

Continuing on with topics that have been played to death in this journal, I saw LBC last night and I may have accidentally given him the evil eye.

I was coming back from shelving a cart of art books and I felt someone staring at me. I was not in the mood to be stared at and, frankly, the next skinny cooked-meat smelling Piers Anthony freak to ask if I had a boyfriend was going to get shanked. Digression 1- Yes, there is more than one male who fits that description. I think there's a factory in Tampa. Digression 2- I've been threatening to shank things a lot, haven't I? Eh. Anyway, I turned my head, evil eye raging, and see LBC at one of the computers. He gives me that half smile you reserve for people who you want to smile at, but aren't sure they're looking and you don't want to look like a grinning idiot in case they don't notice, so it's a semi-smile. You get that?

Yeah, I looked down really quick and hurried back to circulation. Here's what sucks ass: I was shaking. Like, couldn't-carry-a-stack-of-books-cuz-I-was-shaking-so-bad shaking. And blushing. Because a boy kind of smiled at me. I am a dork. No, that deserves capitalization. I Am A Dork. I know now that it is physically impossible for me to talk to him. Great.

When Jaklyn (aka Way Cool Coworker) came in, I told her that LBC had been in again. She said, that's weird. Wasn't he just in here on Sunday? He seems to know your schedule pretty well, Molly. Oh shit! Maybe he's stalking you! I said, don't sound so excited, you enabler. Coincidence.

OK, I'm tired of typing. I have to put together a shopping list for my birthday (not)dinner party. Also, my father just handed me a bottle of tequila. And it's The Hat! Rock.

It's for the marinade I'm making for Saturday.

Right.

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