Birthday retrospective

I've always found birthday posts a little bit awkward. I've felt funny posting much of anything because I didn't want it to come across as an ode to myself, but it has also felt weird to not mention my birthday at all. So here's my attempt to reconcile these awkward feelings. I decided to post some pictures from birthdays past for your viewing pleasure (most of them belong on Awkward Family Photos anyway) because who doesn't like looking at pictures, especially old ones from the 80s and 90s? That's right, no one. So let's begin.

Ah, year one. This is one of the photos that turned out so dark that my mom took other pictures of me eating watermelon another day and that's what is displayed on our "first birthday" wall of photos at my house. I'm still pretty cute, no matter what I'm eating.

Love the candles in this one. My two-year-old self doesn't seem to mind a bit that they're tearing my cake apart and will soon fall over and burn the house down.

I'm not sure why they're wishing me a happy "Biorthday". . .

. . . but I'm pretty sure I had cut my own bangs at this point.

My brother's caption on the back of this photo: "Ash imitating Brett [another brother] and the rest of the baboon family." Man alive, caught in mid-blow. That's some excellent photography. I've never seen such fierce concentration.

Oh, brother. I love this one so much. (And I must because I risked putting an "awkward teenage years" photo in this lineup. You'll notice the absence of any others.) Anyway, I love the priceless look on my sister Jen's face (to my right), I love/hate my ugly, ugly hair, and I love that my brother is reading the newspaper during the big birthday dinner. This one's a classic.

I'm adding this one to show you just how much I love my mom's boston cream pie ... and how awesome my mom is for making me such a gigantor cake. I like it so much I requested it for the next year and even the next. It's goooood stuff.

Anyway, there we go. November 30th is a fantastic day. It has treated me well over the years. And the next time it's 11:30 (a.m. or p.m., but preferably both), think of me . . . and try not to fly into a jealous rage, imagining yourself digging into a slice of boston cream pie the size of your face.

The Old Lady Game

Disclaimer: I'm sorry if this post offends any of you readers, or your grandmothers, but this is just one person's opinion and it's meant in fun.

Every once in a while, my sister will be reading the newspaper and she'll pick out some quintessential "old lady" names from the obituaries and make me choose which one I'd rather have. Sometimes they're pretty traditional names and sometimes pretty unpleasant (I'll be honest), but it's been rather amusing to see which ones get labeled as Ultimate Grandmother names and which ones I'd honestly consider if I was suddenly forced to change my name to sound like I was 80 years old.

You've got your pretty grandma names . . .

Gloria

Ruby

Eleanor

Gwendolyn

Lucy

Madeleine

Helen

Ada

June

. . . and some that are notably dated but not SO bad, like

Ethel

Edna

Beatrice

Shirley

Elsie

Fern

Dixie

. . . and the more unpleasant ones, for me.

Eunice

Bertha

Velma

Doris

Margaret

Gladys

Belva

Francis

Mildred

But a few days ago, I would have told you that the WORST possible old lady name of all time was Phyllis. Hands down. I have always disliked it and have maintained this opinion since we started this little game. The name Phillip bothers me too, which is probably why I don't like Phyllis, not to mention that it sounds a whole lot like an STD. No one wants to have a name that sounds like an STD. So when we play this game and I decide which names of the day are pretty terrible, they always eventually get paired with Phyllis to see which is truly worse. And Phyllis usually wins. Hands down.

But the terrible Phyllis was dethroned a few days ago when we happened upon a name even more awful:

LaVolda

Ugh. Isn't it ghastly? Let's analyze why it's so bad.

• First of all, it sports the ever-awful "La" prefix. I can't say too much about this because my own grandfather's name was Lavern, but I feel like that's a whole name and not a two-parter with "La" haphazardly attached," like "LaDene" or "LaVerl" or the all-familiar "LaVell."
• The second, and perhaps most important, reason why it sounds so grating to my ears is that LaVolda is like the female counterpart of Lord Voldemort. Her parents should have thought of that 80 years ago.
• Third—parents everywhere should take note—don't name your child anything that sounds like the word "mold." They don't deserve that. It's like naming them Fester or LaCanker.

Oh, LaVolda. {shudder} It's so very bad. Do you have any old lady names to add to my list? Ones that either strike your fancy or get your goat, respectively? I'm sure there's a whole lot more out there.

Rankled

I know I should have grown out of this. I know I should be bigger than this, more mature than this, and over it by now, but nothing rankles me quite as much as someone calling me shy.

This happened again a few days ago and it's still festering a little. It bothers me, I guess, because I was shy. WAS. I was quiet, growing up, and there were a few years there where, yes, I was fairly shy. But now, I like to think of myself as reserved. I'm not a loudmouth, I'm not intense, I'm not high maintenance, I don't need all the attention all the time, but I don't have a problem speaking in public or teaching a class. I don't have a problem confronting a server if there's a problem with my order. I don't have a problem meeting someone new and introducing myself. For the love... I'm not SHY.

This is kind of like how, when I was younger, my sister only had to call me one thing to make me go ballistic: a baby. That's the thing that did it, for me. That was the one word that pushed like all of my 100 buttons. I guess the truth hurts. (Just kidding, Jen. I never acted like a baby. Not once. I would never, for instance, whine and complain about something someone said about me in passing.)

But shy? Come on. I'm 28 years old, soon to be 29, and this comment still had me doubting myself. "Why would she think this? What have I done to give her this impression? Crap, is it still true?" I hated hearing it and it still rankles me that she said it and that her saying it rankled me. (Although, using "rankle" repeatedly is helping quite a bit. I like it. It perfectly describes how I'm feeling, and it sounds like what it means, which I like. It's almost therapeutic. Rankle, rankle, rankle.)

My consolation is that the woman who made this comment doesn't know me that well. We're really only acquaintances and this was only the second time we had talked. And she's a foreigner to boot. Maybe she didn't mean shy at all but "very intelligent" or "most beautiful." (Just kidding. Her English was fantastic.) But frankly, I'm comfortable enough with myself (most of the time, save for the recent doubts) to know what I'm really like and to be okay with whatever that is. I'm not quiet or shy, I'm just reserved. And that's a good thing.

And plus, it's highly likely that the next person to call me shy just might get an earful that will show them that that's exactly what I'm not. So beware. I may be rude and immature about this, but for crying out loud—I'm. Not. Shy.

Am I?