The Sweatiest Gift You Can Give Yourself

Graham and I met on Valentine’s Day. We consider this our anniversary because neither of us can remember when we actually started dating. I don’t even know that we ever talked about it. One day, we were just together. Maybe it was around the time that the dog stopped hiding under the bed and growling when we had sex. Yeah, that sounds good. When she decided to accept another girl in the house, we were together.

We don’t usually celebrate our anniversary or Valentine’s Day, mostly because I don’t think we’ve been able to spend the day together since then. Restaurants are kind of a big deal on Valentine’s Day so he always has to work, and like hell I’m staying up until 2am just to see him when I have to work at seven the next morning. This year, though, we’re celebrating our fifth anniversary (five years, what on earth!) a week after the actual day by getting a hotel room, eating a fancy dinner, and, according to him, doing some of the things we haven’t done in the past five years. In St. Louis, okay, things to do in St. Louis. You perverts.

He had suggested Chicago, which made sense because we went there last March as sort of an “hooray, we’re still together!” mini-trip. But I can’t take vacation then, and I’m not a fan of spending all day on a train, staying for one night, and not getting home until after midnight when, again, I have to work at seven the next morning. So maybe Chicago can wait until my birthday. It’s my 30th, and Chicago is a hell of a lot cheaper than the international trip I’d originally planned on taking. (I haven’t shelved the international trip completely, but if I haven’t paid to move out of St. Louis by Christmas and I feel like traveling, I’ll book it for then. I am too old and impatient to spend another holiday with my family.)

So, Chicago for my birthday is one option. I’ll get to hang out with Jenny B., her future husband, and hopefully Justin if he’s not traveling again to save the world one education at a time. Another option is the farm for the Eta Aquarids meteor shower, but that’s only if viewing conditions are right (the moon is supposed to be super bright in the Northern Hemisphere, thus blocking out most meteors BUT maybe people still want to get drunk?) and if I can find the perfect gift for Jane beforehand. Plus I definitely need a photo of Lobster Thermidor before he gets huge and I eat him.

No matter where we go, I still plan on buying myself two of the following three things for my birthday:

1. Laptop – the one I currently have is about six years old. While it still functions okay, it’s slow and has lots of weird little quirks and I need another thing to cover with stickers (Stickerbot 2012!).

2. Mattress – we need a new mattress. There’s now a pronounced dip in the middle of ours, which is fine on most nights (Graham doesn’t get to bed until just before or sometimes after I wake up), but sleeping together means we’re either pushed off to the plusher edges or crammed into the canyon in the middle.

3. Raw diamond ring – regular diamond rings are too prissy (and expensive) for me, but I’ve wanted a raw diamond for awhile now. This was going to be my #1 birthday gift to myself, but considering the above and the 3/4 sleeve I’m starting two days before my birthday (which isn’t really a gift because I scheduled it way back in summer), the ring may have to wait a little longer.

A treadmill was going to be on the list, but since I bought Jake’s for $75 (a benevolent sum from a benevolent friend, and I’ve used it four times in five days!), I should be marginally more fit in time for my actual birthday. Which I suppose is a gift to myself, as well.

Oh, Chicago has IKEA. Decision made? Probably so.

About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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