The Birthday Extravaganza

The problem is, the extravaganza hasn’t actually happened. In fact it is the number one reason I didn’t sleep very well last night and am staying awake playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook right now rather than making Husband’s lunch or getting ready for bed or you know, being in bed, sleeping, like a normal person. Bejeweled Blitz is a low point, folks. And before I get you all confused, thinking that I am planning some epic birthday party for our child, I should put that concern to rest right now by saying we don’t have a child. And we probably won’t ever, if things go as planned. Although I think we can all agree that I would throw one heck of a ballerina birthday party for a little girl, complete with tutu-decorated invitations and pink decor.

In fact I have absolutely nothing to do with the planning or throwing of this extravaganza, which I suppose is one of the main reasons I’m fretting over it so much. I’m a really good planner. After all I just planned a number of events at work that went extremely well, and most importantly the food was delicious and well received. I get things done, people. In fact, the morning of said events, not only was I calm and cool and very collected, I even had time to chill out, which was a stark contrast to the Second Day of Work Debacle of last year.

As the only child of two calculated, pragmatic individuals, I don’t do very well with surprises at all. We’re the type of family who go shopping together and choose our presents for us to give each other. But Husband decided, in an unexpected turn of events, to strike me with my biggest fear: being murdered in my apartment spontaneity and decided this year he’d plan a surprise trip for the two of us. The general rules were clear: I couldn’t go online to our banking account to see where he was spending our money, and he could spend up to about $2000 because, after all, it was my extravaganza and I think I could totally deserve a $2000 vacation (I’m fairly certain this didn’t actually pan out). The fact that he asked that I not go online to our banking account was a cruel thing, particularly since I never go there anyhow and had no plans of hopping online just to see what was going on, but I am also a wretched liar, so I realized I simply couldn’t look and get away with it.

Plus I think he used

The Low Point

He will not crack. Not even a little bit. In fact, he hasn’t even told me what I can or cannot pack, for what climate I should anticipate, or how long it will take to arrive at our final destination. Tomorrow night he’ll reveal the packing list and climate, and knowing myself, I will pack a little extra and for multiple climates to be on the safe side, but till then I am left unknowing.

I hate not knowing.

The closest we came to a hint was last night, right before he fell asleep (when he is his most vulnerable) and he said to me, “I was just thinking about George Takei being on ‘Celebrity Apprentice.'” As you can see, he doesn’t get the general idea of what a hint is supposed to be like. I was able to weasel out of him that it had nothing to do with George Takei (thank goodness, because the only options I’d come up with were a Star Trek convention or…a Star Trek marathon in our apartment), but did have to do with Donald Trump, so I immediately hopped online to see all the locations of Trump Towers. Most notably, they are in Las Vegas and New York because, trust me, he knows me well enough to not take me somewhere like Chicago. No offense, Chicago, but seriously I’ve been in your airport and if that’s a small taste of what you are like, then we’re good. I thought I’d struck gold — there it was, I’d narrowed my options down to two.

Of course this evening, upon mention of my discovery, he acted as though the George Takei “hint” had been a joke all along. Why was I looking online for Trump Towers locations? Why would I think Las Vegas or New York?


Recon has failed. The only thing I can do now is wait. So to recap:

Photo courtesy of

I’m having a birthday.

Photo courtesy of

We might be going here.

Photo courtesy of

…or here.

Photo courtesy of

Hopefully not here.

Photo courtesy of

And somehow the whole thing has to do with that guy right there.


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