I can be such a drama queen sometimes (all the time). We ended up spending my birthday at Salem Beer Works and had an awesome dinner. I love that place. The food and service are consistently good, the beer is awesome and the price is right. In all, my birthday wasn’t so bad. I don’t know why I let it stress me out. I’m an idiot.

Anyway, our waiter kicked ass – he was totally on the ball without being obnoxious and annoying. I just hope my sister tipped him well. Sometimes, it seems so hard to find decent services nowadays, especially since I left the profession, so it’s all that more enjoyable when you actually find someone who does the job well. In fact, they’re all nice in that place. With the sole exception being one rude, lazy waitress we had last fall, I’ve never had a bad time in there. That’s unusual.

Now that I think of it, isn’t it pathetic to get excited when someone is merely doing their job the right way? Serving isn’t a difficult job when you really get down to it. Even the worst customers are gone in 45 minutes and if you are overwhelmed, most people are understanding when you address the problem politely and apologetically.

If I screw up at work, my mistakes are not only highlighted, there’s the threat of them ending up on a national stage like Jay Leno’s “Headlines.” Once the paper is in print, I obviously can’t go back and correct the error. Not even all the white-out in the world can correct it. Advertisers don’t like that; they expect you to put every ounce of effort into their ad. They don’t realize that you have 25 more advertisers expecting the same thing. Now, that’s hard. Serving, on the other hand – you eff up, you can fix it instantly and sometimes, positively rectifying the situation and error can give you a better tip.

I don’t know how this post turned into a rant about restaurant service but whatever. I think I need to rejoin the ranks. I really miss the constant cash flow.

The NFL has decided to discontinue NFL Europa after 15 years. I think the moral of the story is Europe is not ready for American Football. I’d be disappointed but I never got around to watching it anyway, so I guess it’s for the best.

It’s officially my birthday! Gimmie my presents! I kid, I kid.

Speaking of gifts, so far today I’ve gotten a free ashtray from Marlboro cigarettes, the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles sent me a brand spankin’ new driver’s license complete with my old picture (I’ll be 22 and skinny for another 5 years!), and Stop and Shop sent me free cereal. I’ve yet to receive any real presents but the day is young!

I’m quickly approaching my last day as a 27 year-old. *sigh* How depressing. I remember the days when birthdays were AWESOME! Presents, cakes, pointed party hats – man, I would start looking forward to my next birthday the day after. Now, birthdays just signify another year closer to my impending mortality, another gray hair to tweeze, another year gone by without accomplishing anything of importance with my life.

As if the overwhelming thoughts of my slow and steady decline into senility weren’t enough, it always seems as though all of my friends are out of town, or busy, or broke, or some other excuse to avoid hanging out with me as I drown my birthday sorrows. Few things are worse than singing happy birthday to yourself. How pathetic.

OK, anyone older than me will scoff, but when I think about my birthday, it makes me feel like I’m running out of time – time to finish school, time to have kids, get married, buy a house, all that adult, grown-up bullshit – if I don’t get going soon, will I ever?

Sometimes I envy my boyfriend’s outstanding ability to live in the moment. Life’s just one big party – why waste your time worrying. He’s so much older than me yet he’s the one that gets carded at bars. If you’re only as old as you feel, he’s still 21 and I’m nearing 50.

At the very least, this year’s birthday will be much better than the one I endured last year. I can’t imagine anything worse than that.

I’m a dumpy downer tonight. No one peed in my Cheerios this morning, I think it’s just the fact that I’ve spent 14 hours in an office with no A/C and I’m still here at 11:30 p.m.

ADDENDUM: Thanks to the swift work of the local police department, the van was found. It turns out, the suspect not only remained in this city, he was parked less than a mile away from the police department. The suspect fled on foot but was quickly caught with the aid of the K-9 officers. Although the van wasn’t damaged (as far as we can tell – like I said, it’s a beater), unfortunately for my boss, his teeth weren’t in there. The search for my boss’s teeth goes on…

* * *

Just when I thought I had seen everything at my office, today someone stole the newspaper van. Some guy stole the big, ugly, old beater with the newspaper’s giant logo painted on both sides. I can’t imagine getting much for the piece of junk at a chop shop and it is so tragically uncool, I can’t imagine it being worthy of a joyride. It’s also about as discrete as driving around with a megaphone yelling, “This is a stolen vehicle!”

The van was stolen around noon. By 2 p.m., there were two sightings of the van around town. By 3:30, there was another sighting, but this time he was headed toward another city. I would have loved to stay late to find out what happened, but I couldn’t bear to be in the office past 5. All I know is, the last thing my boss said to me regarding the van was, “I hope they (the police) get the van. My teeth are in there.”

And that, my friends, is just another day at my office.