Some Things Are Just Not Meant To Be

Up until about 5 p.m. today (er, yesterday now), the weekend had been just fabulous even though it has followed a rough week. After all, my birthday was Monday, and, while most people over 21 dread or disregard their own birthdays, I still usually look forward to mine. Unfortunately, there's not much of a big reason to. It just means I'm officially one year older and once more reminded how thoughtless my husband is, because, in our six years together, he has yet to purchase, make or otherwise creatively produce a birthday card even though I've expressed how nice that would be. I did, however, get a simple "Happy Birthday" text message on my phone at 5:47 a.m. from my ex--doesn't that speak volumes...?

But anyway. I'm finally over it. Well, kinda sorta, I suppose. I'm over the fact that one more year passed without a crummy card from my spouse, but I'm not really over the fact I hang around and tolerate always being treated like an afterthought. I hate the fact that I am expected to TELL my husband everything I want. Honestly, I could probably go out on the street and find a stranger who would be thoughtful enough to get me a freakin' card, at least out of sympathy. Am I wrong for expecting a small symbol of romance from my spouse? Are relationships really supposed to be this much "work?"

Okay. So...I did tell him that I'd like to go out this weekend for my birthday. We decided to hit downtown Indy last night. He came home from work and said he needed to go into town by himself, all mysterious-like. I thought, "Oh, cool, he's finally going to do something unplanned--maybe pick up some flowers, perhaps the shoes I want...OR maybe even that marble table I've been wanting for two months now!" When he came home acting just as mysterious, I thought for sure some type of "treat" was involved. Ha! He told me that he had something "for the both of us," and led me to the bedroom. The anticipation made my heart pound harder and harder until he lifted up the sheets on the bed and..."TADA!" there was a pair of new jeans and a new shirt...for him.

I told Steve I liked his clothes and then I went into the living room and lied down on the couch, halfway watching "Home Improvement." (Blech.) I wouldn't say I was pouting, but it was pretty evident I was just a bit disappointed. He thought I was asleep, so he left again. Meanwhile, I got up and started to get ready because we were planning to leave by 6 p.m. He came home while I was in the shower, again, empty-handed. But when I went to get into the Jeep, there were six roses in the seat. He redeemed himself, and though my initial thought was to question whether he did it out of his own desire to please me or out of obligatory guilt, I showed my appreciation and looked forward to our night out with optimism.

After we secured a hotel room at the Omni, we drove around until we found a vacancy at a parking meter across the street. Being the miser I am, I was determined to find cheap parking rather than pay a valet $20. (Luckily the parking meters are free on weekends, which Meg and I found out the hard way a couple weeks ago.) So then we decided to find a swanky little joint for supper. We sauntered in at "14 West" and, after scanning the menu, bolted right back out. You know it's a bad sign when there are no prices on the menu except under the wine selection. You know it's even worse when a bottle of wine is $210. Even though money wasn't necessarily an object that night, I refused to support such an establishment. Steve once told me that such a place's theory is "If you have to ask the price, then you can't afford it." My theory is, "If you can't list your price, then you don't need my business."

I went downstairs to the restroom and Steve followed a couple minutes later, telling our waiter he was going to check on me. We ran out together, deciding that the Old Spaghetti Factory didn't sound so bad after all. In fact, it was a great choice. The spinach tortellini and Italian cream sodas were marvelous--and priced appropriately, too. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel. After unloading our bags and taking a 20 minute breather, I told him I had to get to a dance floor. So we went to my favorite place--the Ugly Monkey-- where we received VIP arm bands to get into a not-so-special "special" area. A couple of hoodrats were getting way-freaky on the dance floor, thus intimidating everyone else in the joint, so we left and decided to go to this little hole in the wall place called Ike & Jonesy's. Holy cow I've never seen so many older folks on one dance floor at once! It was all good though. (I believe I was grinding on Snoop Dogg for awhile, but nobody would confirm it for me.) I got in free for being the "birthday girl." At one point, Steve left to go to the bathroom and I had a guy trying to buy me a drink and get me to dance with him. I told him I was waiting on my husband to get back from the restroom, but I swear that never phases guys anymore. On the way out I ran into a cousin I haven't seen in a long time, which was really odd. Then I thought I saw Colts coach Tony Dungy sitting in a taxi parked at the curb. I tried to get his autograph but Steve pulled me away, insisting it wasn't him. Then I made the mistake of daring Steve to get into a parked limo, and it was then my turn to pull him away.

Fast forward to this morning, 10 a.m. Steve woke up with a hangover and I woke up ready to do some shopping. We took off walking and ended up spending three hours and a small fortune at one particular store. Before we knew it, it was pushing 2 p.m. and we still hadn't left the city. We flew home, almost biting the tail end of a Toyota along the way because some nimrod decided to do a U-turn on a major highway. And though we made it home safely, that seems to be the point in the day where things started going downhill.

We picked up Clayton, who was in one of his typical toddler moods, and took him out to lunch. Then we came home and tiredness seemed to hit us all. Steve fell asleep after we put Clayton down for a nap and I hopped online to look for Meg because we were supposed to go out tonight. She wasn't on, so I called and ended up leaving a message because she wasn't home, either. Next thing I knew, it was 5:30 p.m. and I was waking up in a drooling frenzy. I looked on the caller ID and saw that my mother had called. Then I heard a helicopter flying over, and, thinking the crazy way I do, I concocted this idea that maybe something had happened to Meg and the helicopter was taking her to the hospital so she called my mother to call me...or something. So I called mom back and ended up chatting while Steve decided he wanted to go look at camcorders. (But no, Meg had not called her.)

*sigh* Ah, the camcorders. The object of my "to buy" list for over a year now. I am so technologically illiterate that I did not realize most places no longer sell VHS camcorders. We decided to go out of town to look at them and get more information since the only place in our small town that sells such a thing is Wal-Mart. (We all know how I feel about Wal-Mart.) On the way, we stopped at another store where I found a pink Calvin Klein bathing suit from the "Summer 2006" line--originally $180, marked down to $29.99. I could not pass it up. I have been looking for a one-piece for weeks now, hoping to find something I can wear to water aerobics at the Y. I have several two-pieces, but I've grown a wee bit self-conscious of wearing them when all the other elderly ladies are wearing their conservative flower prints with skirts.

Anyway, I just tried the dang thing on about half an hour ago. Though it does fit, it is not the least bit flattering. It is practically transparent and hugs my toosh a little more than what I'm used to. The pink is so light that my flesh blends in with it, which I'm sure will provoke double-takes from perverted old men who, at first glance, will think I'm wearing nothing at all.

Back to the camcorders, though...I was convinced to get a camcorder tonight. We figured that Best Buy would close at 9 p.m., so the plan was to bop in, get a cam, and then Steve would take me by Meg's since she lives up there. Since we hadn't made contact earlier, I thought I could just drop in, surprise her, and then leave for Indy from there. Ha.

Once we got all the details about the latest gadgetry in the world of camcorders, we grabbed up a Canon Z500 and headed to check-out. The clerk was quite friendly, and then out of nowhere she leans toward me and whispers, "Your check has been declined." WTF? I assured her my check was valid--after all, we'd just deposited our tax check earlier this week. So she called the check verification company once more, and again, my check was declined. I was hot. Not only was this holding us up for time purposes, but it was embarassing as heck. (Not to mention completely unnecessary.) The first thing that flew through my mind was that someone had stolen my checking information and had used up all my funds. I panicked.

The manager came up and called the check verification people, as well, this time asking them if there was a specific reason they could give me for why it had been declined. No such luck, but she did give me a phone number to call so that they could release to me a reason for decline. Long story short here, I ended up discovering that they use "40 years of statistics" as their rationale, meaning that since I have so many other checks out that have been verified through their particular company, they refuse to honor any more for a few days just to make sure that I'm not a victim of identity theft. How sweet, huh?

We left with our tails between our legs and not a camcorder in our hands. But we did stop by Meg's at 10:30 p.m. and she had pretty much settled in for the night. Funny thing was, she had come to my house during that time that we had been up in her neck of the woods the whole time. Strange how that happens. We were both bummed that our plans fell through. Earlier we had been experiencing blizzardlike conditions and I was initially skeptical of driving to Indy, but I had hoped we would do SOMEthing. I certainly didn't expect to be spending my Saturday night on hold at Best Buy for two hours.

Steve and I opted to go across the street to *gulp* Wal-Mart to look at camcorders. As I said, I was pretty determined to get one. Unfortunately, we could not get help at Wal-Mart. It was a disaster. We left abruptly, deciding we'd come back to our good ol' hometown and attempt to get one at the Wal-Mart here. At this point, it was nearly midnight and Clayton had crashed in the backseat even though we had promised that we'd stop and get him a milkshake. Steve wanted one anyway, so we stopped at Steak n Shake before parking at Wal-Mart and devouring them as the street sweepers cleaned around us. While we were sitting there, I had made the comment that we had forgotten to stop by my dad's earlier.

First person I see when I walk through the doors: My dad, perusing fruit with his new girlfriend that he just flew in from Wyoming. I ducked around to the other side, picked up a lime and hauled it at his back. We ended up talking for another good half an hour before Steve and I finally made our way back to the camcorders. Unfortunately, we ran into the same situation as we did in Muncie: NO HELP. We picked out one to buy, but when Steve asked the woman--at least, we think it was a woman-- to get it out of the case for us, she snapped, "Well that means I'll have to walk all the way to the front and get the keys and come back" (as she was tossing her head all over the place in great huffiness). At this point in time--midnight, to be exact--I was so pissed that I went off on the he-she bitch. She told me that the electronics department closed at 9 p.m. and I was like, "Then where is the sign stating the hours?" She mumbled something about jewelry and other departments also closing at 9 p.m. and I yelled, "THEN SHOULDN'T THERE BE A SIGN STATING THIS???" I asked for her manager and then realized I probably wouldn't get anywhere with third shift anyway. I told her/him that I realized it wasn't her/his fault, but that it was ridiculous that the entire store could be open for business, yet all the individual departments be closed.

Needless to say, we did not get our camcorder. I am not a happy camper, not just because I didn't get the goods, but because there is such great rigamorole to go through all the dang time. Rude employees. Ridiculous check verification policies. Ruthless drivers. And all economic debate aside, I could go on and on about my great ambivalence toward Wal-Mart. On a happy note, though, I came home to '90s edition of Trivial Pursuit, a couple of neat photo frames and a really cute card in my door...from Meg.

So I guess some things are just not meant to happen. In essence, this is the conclusion I draw from this blasted day. I was not meant to go out with Meg; probably not meant to have that lousy bathing suit, definitely not meant to have the camcorder, and perhaps it will never be meant for me to have that two-fold piece of paper from my spouse that signifies his remembrance of the day that I was meant to be.