Five for Fighting

A week ago today was my 33rd birthday. I love my birthday. Love it. Every year, I expect the Emily Parade to come thru town and the wine to flow like water. Last year my birthday sucked. I was new at my new radio station and no one seemed to remember at work. My parents didn't call me to wish me a happy birthday until the evening. My brother completely forgot. My sister was Instant Messaging me about something...and 20 minutes in I politely reminded her of my b-day. So last year sucked and apparently the parade marshall had the day off. THIS year I vowed to be different. A friend at work planned a happy hour for the day of my birthday, which happened to fall on a Friday this year. Good times. They decide to close our office at 2:30 so we could start off early. Terri and I go to drop my car off at my house, then off to the happy hour. On the way back to the office, we witness a horrible motorcycle accident. As it's happening, I start pointing and grunting something only dogs and dolphins would understand, then silence. I saw this poor boy without a helmet fly about 30 feet in the air, land on the ground and convulse until the life left his body. It was horrible. And all I could do was grab Terri's hand and pray. We drove to the happy hour in silence. We get to the party and after a few deep breaths and more praying I am ready to move on and all is great. Wine flowing like water and the parade marshall was in full force marching in circles around me. Life was good. My friends from my old radio job, my current co-workers, friends from high school, Briana, Kathy, Cherill, Gina, my brother and other important people are all around me. I was walking on sunshine. I also invited an old friend of mine named Garrett. SIDEBAR! I nickname all of the men in my life, for example, "Cute Neighbor Boy", "Hot Lawyer Boy", "Tex Mex" you get the idea. Well Garrett's nickname is "Hot Hockey Player". Anyway, so "Hot Hockey Player" shows up at the party. We are not dating, but I would like to. Things are great. A wee bit of flirting. I am feeling like Queen for a Day.... all is great. Then... dun, dun, dun.... my brother decides to confront HHP and ask him what his intentions are with me and he demanded that he treat me with respect! HUH? I was horrified. Totally inappropriate. TWWWWEEET - the referee has blown this play dead, and has given Bob #0 on the Red Team- Five for Fighting, off to the penalty box for you. The only saving grace is that I know that Bob did this out of love for me, but I am having a hard time forgiving him. Especially since the hate email he sent me about how, in his opinion, I am 33 and alone, and apparently have lost my pride and principles. Seriously, I could rant about this for 6 weeks. I think I will stop. I have heard from HHP and he assures me that he didn't spend the rest of the weekend cutting my picture of of his yearbook. SIDEBAR! We went to High School together. This too shall pass.