In Which I Am a Moron

So, my birthday went okay.
WHO AM I KIDDING?! My birthday was the best and most wonderful birthday I've ever had!
So it all started out on the 15th, the day I actually turned 16. I woke up and said good morning to Mom, and Monet came up.
"We finished wrapping the presents!" He said cheerfully to Mom after hugging me and wishing my a happy birthday.
"Really?" Mom asked. "Did you find the tape?"
"Nope. Staples."
I nearly died laughing. Mom tried to remain calm. "You mean you stapled the wrapping paper to the presents?"
"No. Of course not. We stapled it to itself. There are kind of some holes, so she can't see them till she unwraps 'em. They're kinda messy."
"Did you wrap them all?"
"Yeah. Well, what did you give me? Pants-" He was cut off abruptly.
"Hello? I'm still here!" Mom was too busy laughing to admonish her wayward and loudmouthed son. He left the room in shame.
Mom and I left to get my hair cut, and on the way out we checked the mail. Two birthday cards for me!
I pretty much only got my hair trimmed and straightened, then we came back home, and got ready to go to the mall, because I was going to get my cartilage pierced. It didn't *and still doesn't) hurt very much. Then Mom and I looked around at a few other places. We went to Claire's (I don't care if Claire's is for teeny-boppers, I really like the earrings, and I'd probably get kicked out of any supposedly "cool" place, like Hot Topic, which actually scares the heck out of me, or Abercrombie and Fitch, which disgusts me.) I got two pairs of earrings, which is practically all I ever get there, since sweat bands reading "Mrs. Timberlake" don't interest me. The earrings are really cool, though. There's one pair of dangling monkey ones, and another skull and crossbones one.
Then we went to Carrabas, which is an Italian restaurant I'd never been to before, and had a GREAT meal. It was fantastico. Probably the best restaurant food I've ever had. The waiter was really cool, and said "Sir," "Madam," and "M'lady," which is the coolest thing ever. I swear, if I ever get married, I'm making my husband call me M'lady at least once in his life, especially if he's british.
Anyway, while we were eating, Dad gave me his gift, which was a $20 gift certificate to Borders. Since Borders was only a parking lot away, we went there after we finished eating. After much deliberation, I bought The Princess Bride, by William Goldman, Princess In Love, by Meg Cabot, and Night Watch, by Terry Pratchett. I was happy. Then we went home, and I opened presents. I won't say everything because that would bore you, but I got a few books, including some by Douglas Adams and Richard Halliburton (the Richard Halliburton is SIGNED!), a pair of pants, some beanie babies, and the coolest socks I've ever seen. They are knee high, pink, and have the Jolly Roger with a pink bow on the skull all over them.
So, you're probably thinking that was a pretty nice birthday, right? And I was, too. I was a little sad that I wasn't going to have a party on my Sweet Sixteenth, but I felt kind of gulty for being sorry, and buried the thought.
On Friday I went to Ash's house, which we had planned a few days earlier. Shegave me my birthday presents (which were a little fairy figure, a candle holder, and best of all, a little trinket box with 101 reasons I'm such a great friend) and we played board games, then went to a book study. I felt all cool and grown up because I was hanging with the college crowd, and one girl was nice enough to think that I was actually in college. HA! As if I looked that old OR that mature.
The next morning we went to work, and then we drove out to a square dance that Mom said Ash should come to. We got lost on the way, and kept joking that we were going to miss the entire dance. It was also really funny because a lot of the way there, there was this guy behind us (he was driving in a car, not walking or in our car) and the guy in the passenger seat was fast asleep. I mean, head back, mouth open, drooling asleep. He was somewhere from 16-23 (couldn't really tell, on account of us the movement of the cars and all) and Ash and I kept looking back and laughing.
We stopped for gas, and looked at the directions. Then we started off. And drove right by the intersection we were supposed to be turning at. But we didn't know it. So we drove back and forth, and nearly hit it every time. Finally we called Dad, and he told us where the turn was. Right after BP.
When we pulled into the parking lot we could hear music. I walked in and started to take of my coat. Ash was shoving me into the room.
"Geez, Ash, let me get my coat off!" I said, pushing her away lightly.
"Would you look!" she said, and shoved me rather roughly. I was about to say something else, but then I noticed the banner.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BARD!
Oh, I thought. How nice. She told the square dance people about my birthday. That was nice to put up a banner. I thought that because I wasn't enough ot a megalomaniac to think that the entire party was for me. I could hear the caller saying something.
"Oh, it looks like we have a visitor!"
And then everyone sang Happy Birthday to me. And I still thought that it was just everyone being nice. Until Lena walked up to me. Wait a minute, I thought. She's from choir. And Petri? And Camp? And people from the homeschool group? What?
And then it hit me. Lena and Petri were saying something to me, but I don't remember. Because there was a whole suprise party, just for me.
Everything else was a blur. I talked to everyone, told them how surprised I was, marveled that the plan had been in the works for months, felt stupid, got over myself and had a great time. It was the best square dance, because I could ask anyone to dance with me because I knew everyone. The only drawback was that I was the center of attention, which wasn't so great. Mom had pictures of me plastered everywhere (including the one of me with chicken pox) which is a nightmare. But I had a great time. The crowning glory was the book.
Mom had a letter from almost everyone I know. Letters offering advice, memories, praise, and general happiness. Pictures of me with people I know, and pictures of the people who sent the letters. It was great. The next time I feel crappy, I'll just haul out that book, and try to remember how many people love me.
That was the thing that struck me most. How many people love me. How many people bothered to show up. I knew almost all of them, of course, but you don't think how many friends you have until you see almost all of them in one place. If you're me, you have a vague feeling that no one you know would actually count you as a friend, would actually care about you. But I guess I'm wrong about that. I guess I'm a pretty swell gal.
Even if I am a moron.