My birthday was yesterday, so this post is old. Somehow, I just didn’t have the time to hit “publish.”

Today is my birthday. This is probably the cliche thing that everyone says when they feel themselves truly getting older, but each birthday is a little less significant for me. In other words, every year, it doesn’t seem like my birthday on my actual birthday a ‘lil bit more than the year before. I’ve devised a list of reasons why today REALLY doesn’t feel like it’s my birthday…

1. I’m new at work. Yeah, it’s my VERY first week. No way am I, or will I ever be, the kind of girl who’s going to announce to an office of strangers “HEEEY, EVERYONE, IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!” and twiddle my thumbs at my desk all day, anxiously awaiting my vanilla-frosted birthday cake. That’s just… eh, way tacky. It’s something you’re only comfortable doing after at least one month. Ahem

2. I opened my boyfriend J’s birthday gift last week. Hence, I won’t be opening any presents on my actual birthday… tear. I knew this very well at the time I opened J’s present, but the two vodka tonics I had just guzzled were in no mood to listen to Korlina. Grrrr.

3. I’m stuck at work, (I feel like my birthday never lands on a weekend. Ridiculous of me to think that, but still) in an igloo of an office. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this in the blog, BUT I.hate.the.cold! This place is way too heavily air-conditioned for my thin blood. Even my boss who insists on keeping this place his own little Antarctica, is consistently rubbing his hands together to stay warm, and lets out a “BRRRRRRR” about every 5 seconds. Make sense to you? Makes no sense to me either.

4. BetteBoop threw up again last night. Thoughts of her being sick again float through my head, and make me lose my appetite. Sigh.

5. Ooops, #5 is going to be a huge contradiction because, lo, Nate (good friend) sent me gorgeous flowers. Now my cheeks are red because everyone in this office of strangers now knows it’s my birthday.

Okay, now it really does feel a little bit more like my birthday

After a large dosage of antibiotics, nearly $600 in vets bills, too much drinking, (me, not Bette) and more tears than I’ve cried in a long, long time (Linda Ronstat song… anyone? anyone?) BetteBoop is eating again. In fact, she began her wet food binge last Wednesday night. The sound of her eating the food on that night, her barely audible nibbles, for the rest of my life I’ll always remember as one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard. Amen. More to come…

BetteBoop isn’t eating. Not eating, like, at all. BetteBoop has always been a rather slim cat, but she has also always loved food. She stopped eating entirely last Saturday morning. By Saturday night by 11pm I was in full panic mode. Therefore, I didn’t know what else to do with myself or with my cat.  After a brief struggle, I placed Bette in her kitty carrier, and dashed off to the emergency vet. An overpriced emergency vet.

After hours of waiting around, the vet prescribed Bette a bland diet of chicken or turkey baby food, low-fat cottage cheese, white rice, and skinless chicken breast. I also had to give her a liquid orangey medicine that would keep her from throwing up so much. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that part. Bette had also been throwing up. Not her usual brownish clump throw up, but a watery, foamy throw up. I know, this post is one gross mess, and that’s how I’ve felt myself lately.

Now it’s Hump Day. Hump Day is supposed to be a day of margaritas and a nascent anticipation for Friday. There will be no margaritas or Friday fantasies on this Hump Day. I’m leaving work early so that I can bring Bette to the vet. She’s still not eating willingly. I have to force feed the bitch. Okay, that is harsh. Yes, of course I love my cat. I talk about Bette constantly. I’ve been worrying about her constantly. I made the biggest fool out of myself at my friend’s bachelorette party this past weekend. I cried and carried on about BetteBoop for practically the.whole.entire.wine.tasting.trip. Ah huh, you heard that right. Not even a plethora of wine with my best friends could pull me out of my funk.

With all that said, BetteBoop is still being a little bitch. Don’t believe me? Try force-feeding a cat who gets so mad about the thought of food to her mouth that she looks like a little Gremlin. A cute Gremlin, but still. Maybe more like Gizmo. Anyway, I’ve been through hell with her this past week. J has been through even more hell because not only is Bette freaking out, but his Korlina is SOOOO freaking out.

After looking up Bette’s symptoms on the Internet, I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s anorexic. It’s not necessarily the same as human beings showing signs of anorexia. For cats, it simply means that they will not eat. This can be due to physical and/or emotional factors. This brings me to Sammy. He’s only been with us for a little over a week, but Bette clearly cannot stand his presence.

Around 5pm the verdict will be in. Is Bette being a crazy badass bitch who isn’t eating in protest of Sammy’s presence in the apartment, or is she sick sick? Fingers crossed that I’ll have good news for ya’ll tomorrow & that I’ll finally be able to sleep.