Life Puppies Birthdays and Kissing

So I'm living in San Jose again. I'm exactly one block away from where I lived for ten years. I feel like I've come home again. I love San Jose. San Jose is a sweet town. It's got a happy little vibe, friendly people and lots of fun places to go. It's got lots of parks and trails and hidden treasures. There are coffee houses that are not Starbucks, Lou's Historic Donut Museum, San Pedro Square, Saint James Park, Casa Vicky Taqueria, an art museum that doesn't charge admission, an IMAX movie theatre and lots of hotels with beautiful restaurants, bars and lobbies to loiter in. I'm living with three college boys. They are young and enthusiastic and surprisingly focused. They know what they want to be when they grow up. I'm old enough to be their mom and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I don't even want to grow up! The guys are so cute. They are still pre-girlfriend, pre-serious relationships. They hang out with their boys and play PS2 and go to movies and watch South Park and The Family Guy. I call them the puppies. Because they are so cute and cuddly and energetic. They remind me of puppies. They are sloppy and they eat a lot. And they're affectionate and well meaning. I give them sweets and cook them dinners -- the equivalent of a scratch behind the ears or a good belly rub. I have a birthday coming in eleven days. I have a brother who has not been in my good graces. He has offered to have a birthday party for me with other family members. Which is nice. In theory. In practice, however....he's invited one of our other brothers who is not mentally stable. The unwell brother has recently called me, lectured-yelled-harangued-threatened and disowned me. Why would anyone who is supposedly trying to do something nice for me invite me to spend my birthday party with someone who directs his most venomous rage at me? I cannot pretend to know what it is like to be the kind of person who never gives a thought to the feelings of my loved ones. I cannot imagine having a birthday party for someone and not asking them whom they would like to invite. Luckily, this "party" for me is on the day after my birthday and I will just build up my reserves by thinking of this as just another fucked up family affair, like any other. I will, if the man formerly known as my brother shows up, sit quietly and try not to say anything controversial. I am hoping he won't show up. These things seldom go my way though. I am debating about going away for Christmas. I wanted to go to Paris but that fell through because the person with whom I'd stay is full up -- his daughter will be visiting him. I'm happy for them, really I am, but I do miss Paris quite a bit, and my friend even more so. So then I thought maybe New York City, but I don't know. I want to be with friends on New Year's Eve so I don't want to be off in NYC by myself when midnight comes. I want to be with someone at midnight and get a good kiss. That always seems like a good way to start a New Year. Not kissing seems like a not good way to ring in a new year. As if you're admitting defeat on day one. There you are, barely out of the box, seconds in to the New Year, and there you are, giving up on love. And come to think of it, for two years running, I did not do any kissing on New Year's Eve and I had the two crappiest years of my life to date. Coincidence? Maybe, but I'm not taking any chances! I am superstitious by nature and by nurture and I think that now that I've recognized this pattern or this evidence, or whatever, I could certainly not ever repeat this behavior for fear that I would be inviting yet another year of hideously bad luck. And who would do that? Not me. I am much more in a mood to invite good luck. And love. Romance. Pleasure. Happiness. I hope I have seen the back of bad luck's head going out the door, fading into the horizon. Gone, daddy, gone.