Birthday Story

The perfect day started in the morning. See, that's odd because sleeping in is probably one of my most favourite things to do (and would you know that not sleeping at all may be the next favourite. Funny, that).

But I awoke. Rather, I was woken. By Duncan, urging me to open presents. And another strange thing happened. I said No. TO PRESENTS. This was an eerie Friday the 13th, indeed! Up was down and left was right, and the whole world went all topsy turvy and I'm pretty sure my elbows were now my knees. Pretty, pretty sure.

But I eventually succumbed to peer pressure and opened my presents. Peer pressure is pretty great and I'd recommend it to a lot of people. Because do you know what I got out of it? A BOWLING PIN, muthafuckas! A sweet, beat up, bad ass, old bowling pin.

I also got an old brass propeller, a pair of vintage silver candlesticks and a Diana camera adapter lens thing for our digital SLR (still pretty sure the bowling pin trumps them all)

So after the bowling pin excitement, I start to get ready for work and a day of drudgery. But HOLD UP, says Duncan (he didn't say that exactly, he can't pull it off). "ARE you going to work?" he asked nonchalantly and a little bit sneakily (which he can't pull off either). See, I'm pretty with it, and I think "this dude is up to something". And he was. I was free from my dull work duties. Now, a weekday full of pajamas and People's Court probably would've been enough for me due to my very high standards in life and everything, but instead we wound up in Coal Harbour, about to board a little float plane, Victoria bound.

I felt like a snaggly toothed, overly plump d-list celebrity, with my dark glasses and cute hand luggage.

I love float planes now. Even though it was one billion degrees inside before we took off, and I kept thinking about how fires and planes didn't go together very well, and how those tiny scratches on the inside of the windows were probably from people trying to escape this burning inferno.

Everyone else seemed so nonchalant about being on what's basically a flying boat, but I was going a little off the deep end in my head. I know it's not as fancy as even a regular plane but it's got a really classy air about it. I'm pretty sure that people who regularly fly in float planes have more exciting lives than people on the boring ground. Like Indiana Jones. So I played it cool, real smooth-like, like I was one of them, a float plane person. I also resisted telling everyone I saw that it was my birthday, especially after the lady checking us in told me I was getting wrinkled. She was referring to my bent driver's license, but still, POOR CHOICE OF WORDS LADY! Doesn't she know that I'm a swanky float plane person now?

And we're here. In pretty little Victoria town, at the very swank Empress/Fairmont. It's steeped in Canadian history, just like our tea, which this fancy pants place is known for.

So we splurged on this ridiculous $55/person tea and topped it off with champagne. It was too perfect to somehow be a part of my world.

I really don't know why he takes me to such fancy places. I spilled half a bottle of champagne in our bed. Doesn't he know me? You know the five second rule people have about eating stuff off the floor? I don't have that. See, who am I kidding! I'm no float plane person. I'm a ground dweller, a bottom feeder, a floor eater. It's just a matter of time before I'm able to remove all my teeth. But when I'm down HERE, on the ground, with the rest of you chumps, I dream of the sky and the stars, and that cartoon where that bear would surf on clouds. I COULD BE THAT BEAR. Goddammit, this is AMERICA, or close enough, and in America we don't give up on our dreams! This is the land of the free, the brave, and Pocahontas!

So for one glorious day, I was like these balloons here, floating gracefully towards the heavens, ever upwards and onwards, full of dreams, hopes and gas. 

But that's me now, the yellow one there, on its way down to the ground to rest in a heap on the floor, just like the rest of these balloons lying in a heap on my floor.

It was a perfect, perfect day though, and I'll probably continue gushing about it until I'm dead. Maybe even after that. It was that good. I can make that happen. 

To reward anyone who actually read this entire mess, I thought I would try something fun. I like fun! So, if you email me your address and up to 10 random words, I will try to write you a nice little card or something else pretty with those 10 words included. Then you get a nice little handwritten card in the mail. I'll even try to have it make sense. (I said TRY). Is that fun? I guess not really, but maybe it's fun to me, and that's what really matters.