I hate my birthday. I think I might have ALWAYS hated my birthday, but my memory is kinda "smokey". Not only is it like Christmas, where I'm reminded by how little my family really understands me (don't get me wrong, I need for nothing and am grateful for their consideration, but the things they give belie a serious disconnect from my persona), but it's usually a really shitty day for me. On my 30th, I had heart surgery, and that was maybe the high/low water mark among birthdays, but let me give you a glimpse of my day SO FAR.
2:00 AM- violent diarrhea with cramping until 3:00 AM. No idea why.
5:25 AM- Earthquake (4.6). No harm, but woke me. I thought it was the dog doing something.
6:30 AM- Decide to make an omelette (I'm good at this). Got some egg on my hand and couldn't get the soap out of the SoftSoap dispenser dealy, so I pounded on it a few times, and it ejaculated cum looking soap all over my shirt and pants. I rinsed it all off and was then cooking and wearing a cold shirt with suds.
7:00 AM- Omelette done and eaten, I change clothes and get re-ready to go to work, and poke myself in the eye.
It'll be all downhill from here, I'm sure. I told Schmoopie I'd be lucky not to lose a limb today.