I was not looking forward to my birthday this year.

It was the concert tickets, really. I got all excited about the Curiosa Festival because it was coming to town on my birthday and I let my excitement sweep away my fiscal judgement. No sooner had I impulsively charged 4 costly tickets than the buyer's remorse kicked in. The feeling worsened when Stacy confirmed that, although she loved me, the concert was too expensive for her budget. Now I had an albatross around my neck, and I got to feel guilty for making Stacy feel guilty. As I was reminded so eloquently by a third party, Friends don't guilt friends into poverty. :)

So that affair pretty much killed any anticipation I harboured for the Cure concert in specific and my birthday in general. I didn't even talk to my family about dinner or presents or anything. I suppose I was hoping that everyone would just forget the date and I could slink away into the shadows for another year. And anyway, I always felt like a pretender when I invited people to a birthday thing. Who am I to ask people to see me for any reason?

This is why I don't throw very many parties.

The Boy had a job interview at noon, so after we had the requisite "why do you always have to do something stupid on my birthday?" argument, he left me in bed with the baby & trundled off to meet the big bad world. (Note: this sentence makes me sound like the laziest bon-bon sucking SAHM in the history of the universe, but ever since Blake's sleeping ability disintegrated, we're spending a lot of time in bed. This week my mornings start at noon. I haven't risen at noon in a long time...but rest assured I don't get up feeling rested or anything.) When I finally emerged from the nest of quilts & pillows & baby, I ran around getting everything ready for the big day. There were showers to be taken, babies to be fed, clothes to be carefully selected, & luxurious chain restaurant food to be eaten in the company of my parents! I was in a pretty good mood as the afternoon wore on but I wasn't getting my hopes up. O lowered expectations, I sing of thee.

At 3:30 I nursed Blake one last time, put on my pink PVC circle skirt, my new "don't be the bunny" shirt & my white bunny ears. My mom couldn't bear to look at me, which is the norm when I dress like a goof. It just wouldn't be a proper birthday if Mom could watch me leave without cringing.

just after crossing the street, which I did with much to'ing & fro'ing.
hop timid bunny, hop hop hop! stop, timid bunny, stop stop stop!

After the requisite commuter-hell, I met the Boy, Dirk & Tigerstripes* at the Living Well in plenty of time for yummy dinners. The waiter, obviously amused by my get-up, asked me if I was coming on- or off-shift at one of the many strip joints on the street. I laughed, finding this an immensely flattering comment. And then I was showered with wonderful presents. A girl can't argue with that.

We got to the concert at 7 or so, missing all of the buzz bands & failing to find Little Spider & her crew. I did manage to find a very cool girl from highschool when we were all standing behind the soundboard during Auf De Mar (blech). She was one of the people I admired from a distance, travelling in a rarefied crowd that included God In An Alcove. When I say that I wasn't cool enough to be her friend, that is very much a statement about me and not her. I was pretty sure that I'd never see her at the reunion, so I was very pleased to run into her at concert. She was very nice to me, and not just because I was dressed like a bunny. It's almost like I'm hip.

As we wandered the merchant tents & bought hideously expensive tour shirts, we were accosted by two random goths. Did we have a Bell cellphone? If we did, this guy could get us into the VIP area. It was incredibly surreal, and I hung back as they led us to a Bell tent where we were signed up for something vaguely promising. But when it was time to go, the Bell people looked dismayed. Apparently there were only 2 spots in the section...so we "donated" them to the guy & girl who had hauled us over in the first place. They were impressed by our largesse, the Boy was pissed of by the bad faith & I was relieved to be shut of the matter. As we made our way to our seats, we noticed that the VIP section was one section over. And the precious, precious VIP seats were ever so slightly farther away from the stage than our plebian seats. Hah! Even the Boy cheered up when we pointed this out.

Let me pause for a moment to sing of our seats. Now that I've given birth & the sciatica has cleared up, I can stand for 3 hours with minimal suffering. But I'm getting old, people, and I was so, so happy to have seats. And what seats! We were on the second row of a section, right behind an empty handicapped zone (our place to dance, of course!). We were next to the aisle, so we could get in & out with impunity. And we could sit sit sit during the longer unfamiliar Cure jams. It was awesome, sweet & excellent, all at the same time. Yes, awesome, sweet AND excellent.

We were in time to catch the last bit of Interpol (Joy Division-tastic!). As soon as the set ended, I tried again to find Little Spider (Dirk reminded me that the most frequent thing said on a cell phone is not "how are you?" but "where are you?") This time we were able to bound toward one another, our dewy field the concrete amphitheatre and our love platonic yet sincere. LS was in the pit, which isn't always fun for a short girl. (I think she should start riding Spike's shoulders during concerts. Preferably with her shirt off.) We babbled excitedly & she came up to say hi to my companions, passing through an oddly-maritime section of the aisle. (Why does such a specific part of the concert theatre smell like fish? To make me laugh?)

The Cure were amazing, of course. I would have preferred to hear more older classics/obscurities & fewer stuff from the last two albums, but it was a pretty solid set list when all was said & done. I spent a good portion of the night dancing in the aisle (and in our private dancing area), sitting down to ponder Robert Smith's expressions on the Jumbotron whenever something slow began. Halfway through (and just in time for "Lovesong"), LS came up to our seats, and we spent the next few songs dancing & singing to each other sentimentally. It's been a long time since I've seen LS, and I was afraid that we'd never really be friends again. The dancing was so unexpected that I couldn't help glowing for the rest of the night.

After the concert, we drove Tigerstripes to the bus station & took ourselves to the Dance Cave. Yes, we really should've gone home to our tiny babe, who was waking up frequently & making my dad wretched. But I was selfish, selfish, selfish. (It's a Leo birthday thing.) And I so enjoyed seeing Shannon again.

The rest of the night passed in a happy blur of excellent retro, shots with the dj, shouted witticisms & some of the best dancers in the city. I was recruited to an alternative parenting group by a girl in blue cat ears; I'll let you know how that goes. It was a marvellous cap to a day that had burst through all expectations like a cartoon hare running a famous race. I think I'll have low expectations next year, too. It seems to work out best that way.

* Tigerstripes = the girl who took the fourth ticket. Although she was cool, chances are we'll never see her again. Alas.

- 0 comments/hedgehogs -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 8/10/2004 09:32:00 p.m.