Inexorable Decline

Yesterday, I received a Facebook friend request from someone who told me that we hadn't seen each other "in 25 years."  I'm used to getting random requests because I'm a very popular person (much more popular than Ted can ever hope to be) but it stopped me in my tracks to realize that such people can now exist in my life- people I hadn't seen for 25 years- because I have lived a very long life.  

All this was reinforced last night (as it often has been lately), when Victoria, Ted, and I hung out with Jamie and spent hours learning about Snapchat.  We didn't intend to learn Snapchat.  We intended to steal Jamie's phone for nefarious purposes (after a certain point of fatigue, we are all 12 years old).  But we quickly realized that we didn't really know how to use his phone for nefarious purposes because Snapchat was beyond our comprehension.  Even a Facebook hack proved difficult for Victoria- she slowly typed out a status post as Jamie patiently waited, then taught her how to tag herself in the post.  The education wasn't purely one way though. Earlier in the evening, a bunch of us nostalgia-watched Face/Off (doesn't hold up well- which makes it all the more fun to see) and tried to teach Jamie about floppy discs and other memories from our childhood.  Unfortunately, he was incredibly resistant to the lessons though and instead, Snapchatted his way through the movie.  Kids these days.  They're not as respectful as they were 25 years ago.

The Threepeat

I have no pictures of our dinner on Thursday night. I was too hungry by that point to want to capture the moment (or the glorious lambchetta) for prosperity. We'd waited first for any of the boys to arrive to know how much to order, then they all came within minutes of each other so that it seemed rude not to wait (ok, it didn't seem rude to me to start while Greg was still strolling down the road, but Jessica implied that it was). The trade off for all the delay the boys caused, however, was the special satisfaction of ordering not only one, two, but three of everything off the blacksauce menu that night. That's a special accomplishment I don't think we'll ever repeat. And almost made the company (which, for the record, I did not pay for) worthwhile. 

The Long Con

Being in school for over two decades, as I have, has very few perks.  The pay is terrible.  As are the hours.  And there's very rarely a sense of accomplishment.  Today, however, was a shining beacon.  Today was an accomplishment.

I spent the afternoon with Mother, wandering around a topiary garden.  And, as she is wont to do, picked on me for something I've already forgotten about- perhaps my inability to tell flowers apart.  But she used a phrase she used to say all the time- "[you] could have gotten into Harvard, if not for this."  Except this time, something clicked.  "Wait, a minute- I did get into Harvard!  And I graduated from Harvard."  And I did it without any knowledge of flowers.

It all seems like a blur now, and I can't seem to recall much of life before this PhD program, but I'm fairly certain that at some point, I attended a Harvard-affiliated university and obtained a graduate degree.  I have the debt to prove it.  

Better Than Your Heart's Desire

Is it "Happy Birthday!" or "Surprise!" or "Ah, it's your birthday!"?  You might think these are the spontaneous phrases one utters at a surprise birthday party but tonight, each word and phrase was hotly contested. Even as we were all crouched behind a couch, waiting for the honored guest to approach, we were all still whisper arguing, "Surprise. Jamie. Happy birthday."  "Wait, no scream?"  "Scream after happy birthday."  "Everybody shut up!" "When do we throw things?"  (That was Crystal, always egging us toward property destruction and violence. "Remember to aim for the face.").  The big surprise, when it finally did happen, went off swimmingly. Planning everything last minute really makes the surprise real. Jamie looked alternatively stunned, happy, and angry. And catching that expression almost made leaving my dinner tonight early and skipping dessert to catch the party worthwhile. It's still unclear, however, if it was worth the 'party animal' and hangover ribbing I got from Prof Tom et al for leaving dinner early. 

Actually, fine. I'll admit it was wholly worthwhile.  I hadn't laughed as hard as I did tonight in a long while, stifling giggles and whisper yelling in those 3 long minutes (candles burning, melting, blown out, relit, and flickering) behind the couch. Yes, these poor party planners may be idiots. But they're my Jesus idiots this spring. And I kinda love them.