Yesterday was my birthday. It’s not a big deal, except it reminds me that I can’t remember things…namely how old I am. People still ask me how old I am, though at this point in my life I’m kinda getting to the point where I’m like, WTF, you shouldn’t ask me that. But, when they do ask me, I get this panicky feeling because I honestly forget how old I am, and I’m deathly afraid of telling them the wrong answer, because I don’t want to be one of those people that lies about their age because they are ashamed – which in itself, is a stupid statement, because I’m not doing it because I want to lie, I HONESTLY CAN’T REMEMBER HOW OLD I AM. Today I remember that I’m 34. I’m not sure why I remember that. Maybe because I still have the image of the half-eaten wedding/birthday cake in my head with the two candles on top that remind me. It’s probably the coolest birthday cake I’ve had since the Ms Pacman one my mom made me when I was like 8.
There are other things I can’t remember…like where I parked in the parking garage at work when I don’t park in my normal spot. Sometimes I’m this opportunist that likes to park on a lower floor, and when that happens, I always end up walking around the 4th floor looking for my car that isn’t there. I tell myself I’m only going to park on 4, but we all know that’s not going to happen. If I see a spot on 2, I’m going to take it. It’s bascially the law of parking in garages.
I also can’t remember everything I need at the store. Now, this may be normal, but if I run into CVS to buy a diet 7up and some Advil, I’m going to come out with just the Advil and 7 other things I didn’t need, and I’m going to forget the diet 7up, especially since the diet 7up wasn’t for me, and forgetting it is worse. But look honey, we have new bobby pins and hairspray! Totally makes up for it.
Today, I’m supposed to go pick up our portraits from our awesome photographer after work. I have to put in multiple calendar reminders on my phone, leave the email in my inbox, and put a note on my monitor, or else I will forget. Chances are, once I get home, I WILL FORGET. I’m not sure why this is. Do I not care? No, of course I care. I want my photos, some of them are Christmas gifts, and I also made special arrangements to get them. Does this make me a crappy human? Maybe so. I kinda don’t blame myself, because part of this is genetic. Have you ever met my grandfather? Not only is he famous for being completely frontal and saying whatever crops up in his brain (‘are you pregnant? or just getting fat?’ ‘are you ever going to get married?’), he is also famous for being forgetful, especially of people’s names. For instance, just this past weekend, he walked up to me and asked me if I’d seen Christy. Why yes, yes I have.
I can never remember that crunchy tacos cut the sides of my mouth when it counts.
I can never remember which foods give me indigestion. Though, right now, I can remember it’s Fruity Pebbles and something else….
I can never remember which year my husband was born in, but it was either 1976 or 1977. (He’s going to kill me for that one) I’m pretty sure it was 1977 because he’s only like 18 months older than me, and if I’m guessing right about my age it has to be 1977. HAHAHA
I don’t remember anything at work, but I don’t think that counts. It’s also boring. And I don’t want to write about it.
I remember lots of things: my social security number, my husband’s social security number, my checking account number, my parent’s checking account number, where I live, what day I was married, Sid’s birthday, what my husband was wearing on our first date to Taco Bell, what Laney looked like when I held her for the first time, that Matt used to have a My Pet Monster and Pee Wee Herman pull string doll, that my dad won’t eat corn or mushrooms in his stuffed bell peppers, what kind of hair stuff my mom uses… I sometimes remember where my parents live.
Maybe I just need to be rebooted. It fixes the laptop most times.
update!! I am sitting at one of my favorite lunch spots, El Tiempo, and realized that I can never remember the name for the melted butter. I ask for melted butter, mantequilla caliente, hot butter, but they always bring me pads of butter. Last time I was here I asked what to call it, and I was like, I’m going to remember this!!!! Well, I didn’t. Today, I’m happy to solidify it on the interwebs as GARLIC BUTTER. I am never forgetting it again. Possibly.