What Not to Gift Me
The art of gift giving is a tricky one.
You either got the good graceful gift-giving gene, or you're the person frantically wrapping peanut butter and a Hanson poster hoping the recipient will love your...uhh....eclectic taste.
Not to toot my own horn (but toot, toot mother duckies) I love giving gifts and I'm pretty good at it.
It is a great opportunity to show your loved ones you care and pay attention to their interests.
However, when asked what I want for my birthday, I am always very literal. I don't like surprises.
I will tell you books, with the title and author and where you can get them and directions to the store.
I will tell you I want a donation to my favorite charity. And proceed to give you an already addressed envelope or a website.
I will tell you that I want Neil DeGrasse Tyson in my bed-just to cuddle with and we can talk about humanity, politics, and of course astronomy.
(^That's been on my list for a few years in a row.)
I know it's the thought that counts & I truly appreciate it, but I'll level with you and tell you the stuff I do not want gifted to me.
Jenn's Anti-Birthday List:
Knick-knacks. I will break them, lose them or sell it at a yard sale. Not purposefully, but it will happen.
Rudeness. I don't want to hear your negativity or anger poorly expressed on the anniversary I slid out of my mothers hoo-haw, no siree. You best be nice and polite and give people hugs and shit.
Diet Cook books or exercise equipment. I will bring the yoga mat you buy me to your house and nap on it and dream of your sweet intentions. Seriously.
Plants or flowers. The thought is sweet and lovely but for a person who kills indoor plants, it's almost like you're nuturing my sadistic side.
And I have wicked allergies so yeah, not the best idea.
Talk about spiders. Ugh. No. Don't rain on my parade friends.
Spiders. God no. Never. If I can't stand talk of it, why would you give me one?!?
Clothes. It's either so cute and too small or way too big and hideous.
Please, just no.
Surprise Party. I really, really dislike them. They irk me. I don't appreciate them. I don't like being the center of attention and they make me uncomfortable. So, please just don't.
Maybe it's a control issue, but I can just see myself picking my butt- oblivious that my family and friends are behind me watching me dig out my panties from my ample rear plushiness, waiting to scream 'SURPRISE' and then some well built up flatulence makes it's debut ceasing the crowds' celebratory mood and causing an uncomfortable silence so palpable that it forces me to turn around and feel shamed on my day.
So yeah, no parties please.
That's pretty much the list of 'no thank you's' and it is not limited to the above and can change at any given time.