8 out of 10 on the nice-ness scale

i was packing for my recent birthday/4th of july trip to evanston, and was instructed to bring nice clothes. being a girl I understand the wide range of nice clothes and of course inquired for more specifics....the response...nice nice but not crazy nice. while this narrows it down for a guy...I'm still unsure and seeked another opinion. the response "on a scale of 1 to 10 where a 1 is sweats and 10 your prom dress I'd go 8." my attention is peaked. but being the one who enjoys being as surprised by what everyone else gets on christmas morning as by what I myself receive i didnt want to ruin this one.

and the birthday celebration was fantastic. birthday gifts the day I arrived...a new book to fill my summer days and a quality game called pirateology...the dies are skulls...need I say more. surprise birthday breakfast the next morning followed by hours of pirateology (the rules may need to be modified for the next playing attempt), showers and fancyness, wall-e downtown, a crazy fancy dinner downtown, and all wrapped up with fireworks on the beach. the best day after the day after my birthday ever.

happy birthday to me

happy birthday to me. it's on this day that I am realizing how much of a little kid I am. it's my birthday I want people to acknowledge. I want cupcakes and candles. I dont normally like to be the center of attention but today I do. my parents have called to say happy birthday and my mom and little sister brought me a mixed berry basket from the food place at barnes and nobel yesterday. but its just not the same. my big birthday plans...laundry and homework alone in my apartment. only 4 people besides my parents have sent happy birthday wishes, even with the help of facebook reminding them everytime they log in to blow off some time at work. the day is still young. I know people still have a chance. thank goodness my boyfriend and his sister are excited about it or this birthday would be a down right bummer.
I know I'm whiny....but I'm not sure I like growing up.