telephone telephone telephone all day !

It was 11 PM when my sister called. I was getting ready for bed, listening to Operator by Girl Scout. It was a stupid catchy song: Telephone, telephone, telephone, telephone all day… had been stuck in my head for a week.

“Happy birthday!” my sister said.

“But-“ I began, trying to explain that it wasn’t midnight here.

“No! You were born in Illinois, so it’s your birthday now.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic. Thus, at 11 PM, February 2nd (February 3rd in Central Standard Time), I turned 25 years old. And with my newly matured brain, I was ready to takeover the world.

I took PTO for my birthday so I could spend my 24 hours doing the things I liked. I rode my exercise bike, and read my books. I did laundry and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. I checked the mail. My Slack messages remained on snooze. Texts from friends came in. Telephone, telephone, telephone all day! I was happy that people remembered me on a random Tuesday.

I got lunch at Saigon Bistro with Phuong, Paula, and Joyce. I was wearing all black with a smattering of silver chains. I felt good about my outfit and I felt good about my newly matured brain. “I feel like I can make good decisions now,” I remarked. Phuong was in a good mood. She had just passed a big exam. Paula brought me cupcakes. Joyce, always generous, paid for my meal. I ordered chili wontons (5 stars) and garlic noodles (5 stars). I was nervous about the noodles, like I’m nervous about trying any new food. When I think garlic noodles I think Olive Garden, which I wasn’t keen on. But Phuong explained that it was like chow mein with a little flair. A good choice indeed.

I went thrifting afterwards at Turn Style Consignment, a little treat for myself, and besides, as a newly mature woman, my closet needed some upgrading. I got some sweaters, gray skinny jeans, and a black dress dotted with purple roses that I wasn’t sure if I liked, but it was $2 and it fit, so why not?

On the way home Robert called. I told him I was driving, but I was almost home. He said I shouldn’t talk and drive. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was driving. I proceeded to ram my car into a brick wall.

Ok, I’m kidding. He was kidding. He said happy birthday and asked that I share a wishlist. When I got home, I starting scrolling through my Amazon cart for things I could add. I felt a bit guilty, like I should have acted more humble and declined to send a list at all. Then I remembered it was my birthday and I did like gifts, like everyone does, and he did ask, so it’d be more rude to say no, so basically I sent the list.

I got my birthday gift from Mom, so I called her to say thanks. It’s this quarter zip from Old Navy, the perfect fit, not too tight not too loose, and the collar didn’t scratch at my neck, a sensation I hated, and it was the perfect color, navy blue, which matched with everything, and hid stains, and the sleeves were long enough, and I decided I’d wear it forever, and I told Mom all of this, and she said she was happy I liked it and that also, there was a cake from Walmart coming my way.

Emma, Annie, and Grace called right after, in a tradition we’ve had going on for at least a year, a “surprise” group call to say happy birthday. Like all my women friends, they are doing impressive things, yet remain eternally humble, maybe too humble (I blame the patriarchy), so I will brag for them now and say Emma is doing a phD and has a startup, and Annie is doing an MD/phD and just got her first cohort of lab rats, and Grace will begin a masters program soon and is, dare I say, graciously navigating and excelling at her corporate job. I was happy to see their beautiful faces!

There are more people I have to call. Kobe, I will call you! We must discuss important matters, such as Year of 6oyfriend. Aryan, I will also call you (We have been friends since the Academy days)! I am glad I have people to call. I’m glad people wished me happy birthday. I don’t want to list names like some end of album credits roll but I was happy to hear from each and every person.

I spent some time before bed typing this post, listening to Operator. The hook for Operator came on, and I realized I’d misheard the lyrics: Dial the phone, Dial the phone, Dial the phone, Dial the phone all day… I will go to work tomorrow and sit at my window seat and at least be in a good mood until lunch, instead of loosing steam by 10am.