Long time no write? I know, I know. Fret not, we are still all happy, healthy, and alive over here at InnerScoops! As I'm sure you saw--or, at least, I hope you saw; if not, see it now!--I personally just graduated from school and, well, let's just say that life has gotten real real, real fast. Like I mentioned before, early summer is a time of change for a lot of us, and I hope that this next installation in my version of The Real World helps you know that change is scary, but change is good and, most importantly, you are not alone.
So I've graduated. Next step? Turning 22.
I've never really been one for birthdays. Well, actually, let me rephrase that. I've never been one for my *own* birthday. I love other people's birthdays, planning parties and baking cupcakes and the like. And I truly love organizing surprise parties, taking people out, singing horribly off key, and trying to make people feel as special as possible on a day that celebrates them and, well let's be honest, their mother for one helluva labor. ::Applause::
But when it's my turn? Well, I kind just shrug it off when I can. For one, I don't love the attention*. Strange thing for a blogger to say, I realize, but the spotlight of birthday affection makes me very uncomfortable. Plus, not to sound all Debbie Downer on ya'll, but my birthdays of recent memory have not exactly been winners. Not bad or anything, just uneventful and normal. I actually tried to fully take myself out of the game this season, purposely scheduling my 20k car check up and lots of work on the actual day of to pre-empt any shenanigans that could take a turn for the worse. I thought I had a nice quiet birthday followed by a normal weekend made. In the bag. Signed, sealed, delivered.
Pictured: Me. Or Rachel Dratch, whatever you want to call it.
So imagine my surprise when, the morning of my birthday, my car started emitting a strange sound.::tuba sounds, of course::
I was heading out to grab breakfast, and 30 seconds into my drive, I heard a scraping sound. I thought nothing of it because, hey, if you live in LA you know that our streets are pretty much paved with gravel and everything sounds scratchy. But after a few blocks I pulled over to look under my car and--oh hey there dangling heap of plastic dragging under my car.
I slogged my poor Phoebe (the name of my precious little sky blue Beetle) over to VW and had them check it out. After an hour of inspection, they concluded that--SURPRISE!--my engine cover was hanging on by a thread. Or rather, whatever the equivalent of thread is to plastic. How exactly remains a mystery: Was it old age? Something bounced up and I didn't notice it the evening before? The Keebler elves have diversified from cookie-making to car-mischief? Who knows, but it was going to cost $400 and two hours. Happy birthday to me...
I left the dealership and then went into work. My mood ring would have said--well, it would have said blue-ish because those things NEVER work! But, to illustrate my point, it would have been at least reddish. Maybe purple, trying to get red. Anyways, stop rambling and move on with it Katherine! Am I right?**
During the week, I work afternoons tutoring K-12 kids at an after school center. I have to say, regardless of the car trouble and the exhaustion later on, this was maybe the best birthday present I could've asked for. The students that I work with put such a smile on my face. I know, I know, that's such a cliché thing for a teacher to say, but things like that are clichéd for a reason. Kids, even if they sometimes make you want to tear your hair out, make your heart feel fuller and your day shine brighter than anyone else. I was greeted by bear--or should I say cub?--hugs from the kids I tutor, and was told "Happy Birthday" so many times that I felt like I was at Disneyland wearing one of those buttons that contractually obligates all workers to wish you a happy uterine expulsion. The car forgotten, that will probably be my greatest birthday memory for a long time. To be clear, that's not a low ball deal. There isn't much that can top the unconditional adoration you feel from a six year old wrapping their arms around your knees and wishing you happy birthday.
Well, maybe a house. But that's...next year??
Next time on Katherine Becomes an Adult: Moving, or How I Single-Handedly Moved Myself Out of a Third-and-a-Half (Yes, Half) Story Walk Up.
*No false modesty, I'm totally serious.
**My internal monologue is legendarily rambling, sorry ya'll.
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