Yeah right. It's a 3.5-4 hour drive from Atlanta, plus a time change. All this for a birthday party weekend. Well, that and a dragon*conTV planning meeting (our first for 2006). I figured Brian and Suzan would show up, because I kicked the idea to them first … then I sent out the email. As Jeff has since explained (patiently and repeatedly, I might add) to me: "You said there would be booze. Why are you surprised people are showing up?"

Yes, well, supposedly that'll show me. The RSVP count from Atlanta stands at 16: Meiya, Brian, Suzan, Asai, mishaPatrick, Patrick, Danielle, 4x4, T-Bone, Ogre, Kismet, Ploki, Broadband, Marriott, Joyce, Aaron. The locals count so far is at least 12: Jeff, me, Misty, Stephen, Jason, Jeremy, Chris Adams, Remy, Hallie, Margaret (Margaret!), Ashley, Jon, and whoever else is planning on showing up that I don't know about yet.

We're going to be splitting the Atlanta crew among five houses, with the exception of Patrick and Danielle, who will stay with their families.

I responded with my usual mixture of blatant panic and obsessive list-making. In the midst of this, I saw Geof's post containing a quote from Abraham Maslow regarding a certain personality trait that I think my friends will recognize:

Compulsive-obsessives try frantically to order and stabilize the world so that no unmanageable, unexpected or unfamiliar dangers will ever appear. They hedge themselves about with all sorts of ceremonials, rules, and formulas so that every possible contingency may be provided for and so that no new contingencies may appear. … If, through no fault of their own, something unexpected does occur, they go into a panic reaction as if this unexpected occurrence constituted a grave danger."

I admit nothing. Nothing, I say!

True, we are only going to be officially hosting five people at my house, but unofficially, I have to expect to host anywhere between 5 and 25. People who drink, and who can't furnish a sober ride home, stay at the house with the booze …

Come to think of it, putting the drunks in the house with the booze and telling them they can't leave until they're sober … somehow, we here in Management have doubts Amy's going to get rid of anyone at ANY point during the weekend. --ed.

… and so I've spent the past day washing, literally, the entire contents of my linen closet. Sheets, stadium blankets, quilts … everything now smells less of multiple-year storage and more of just a bit of jasmine. This needed to be done anyway (as did the full-house cleaning that's going on right now) but the party's an excellent excuse.

It's been far too long since I've had to ask myself, "So just how many people can this house sleep comfortably, anyway?"

(Answer: about eleven. Two in the master bedroom, two on an air mattress in the computer room, two in the guest room, two on the pullout sofabed, two on an air mattress in the reading room, and one on the sofa in the reading room. After that, people have to start getting cozier, or start using sleeping bags.)

In the meantime, I'm madly making lists. You guys know me well, and can imagine what they probably contain. I've spent the past couple of days doing menu planning. Each morning we'll do [pancakes|French toast], pajamas, and old-school cartoons. (We may be old enough to drink, but I'm not old enough to grow up. Not just yet.)

People always ask, "What do you want for your birthday?" and I'm always stumped for an answer. Sure, I'd love to have a white version of the sports bras I adore from Title Nine, or a new knife to finish out my German knife collection, but the truth is that those are things. They can be lost, broken, outgrown.

What I really want, really and truly, is a houseful of the people I love, hurling jokes and insults and mowing through all the food I'll spend next week making, taking photos and terrifying my cats and using up all my towels on the first day.

Despite my shock and surprise and my frantic list-making, this is, indeed, the gift I wanted for my 29th birthday.

…and, for those of you who read to the end, I give you the loopy link of the week: Save the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus!

We have guests coming on the 21st, a whole boatload of guests that we never ever dreamed would consider making the trek to Huntsville; the end result of my saying "I want a big honkin' birthday party!" and never dreaming that anyone would actually agree to show up, y'know? (It's like waking up one morning because someone's banging on the door and it's a very cranky, pissed Italian guy who hasn't shaved in about five days, wearing an ill-fitting pink tutu and saying he's the Tooth Fairy. It's that kind of weird.)

So, as is typical, I'm using the gathering as an excuse to do a few things around the house that should've gotten done ages ago. The icky showerhead in the guest bathroom has its replacement leering from the bathroom vanity; I walked by the bathroom tonight and heard the New Guy taunting the old one by hissing the word "obsolescence!" when it thought I wasn't looking. The stupid painting errors executed by Yours Truly, Domesticat will be fixed tomorrow, as soon as I get a nice little pot of white gloss paint.

There will soon be new shelving in the computer room. I took a chance and bought a couple of small pieces today, figuring that if these didn't work, I'd have only spent $20 and could recycle the shelving to another part of the house. But no, it turned out to be a definitely workable solution, and tomorrow I'll go back, buy the rest, and see about conquering some of the clutter we've lived with in the computer room for …

… uh …

… years?

Yeah. Everyone who is showing up on the 21st: whatever you see, pretend the house always looks like this. Pretend that you can always see the floor in the computer room, and that the nice and neat rows of computer accoutrements have always been nice and neat. (My computer desk is starting to grumble at me just for saying that.)

I know I've got a bad case of the bug when my brain starts whispering, "You've got two weeks … you could finally get that room painted, you know. Erase another part of that nasty beige goodness." Right. We'll see where we stand after I finish getting the room organized. Then maybe.

Why do we always do this? Why, when all we want is to have a good & memorable little birthday shindig, do we spend the two weeks prior doing all kinds of silly chores and touch-ups that nobody besides ourselves will really ever notice?

*cough* Vanity, anyone? *cough*

For now, though, the meds need to start working. I think this is why I'm supposed to sleep. It keeps me out of trouble.

But before I go, maybe I could get those loose CDs back in alphabeti… no.

Good night.

…and for my friends, who have been taking the The Politics Test on okcupid, here you go: according to this highly unscientific test, I am a social liberal (80% permissive) and an economic liberal (18% permissive). It says I am best described as a socialist: "You exhibit a very well-developed sense of Right and Wrong and believe in economic fairness." Guess that means I can continue to make my commie pinko jokes, eh Jeff?