Pop! Pop! go the balloons. And my heart.

So the super-duper birthday party last week.

You may attribute my silence to being crashed out on the floor from all the excitement.

I’m on the floor all right! From disappointment and heartache. Because no one showed up.

Was to be a party of four — all March birthdays. To you, four does not a party make. To me, loner that I am and much too isolated for much too long, it is!

The shindig was arranged through Meetup.com. A giant site for meeting people, not dating!

One gal bailed on the morning of the party. No explanation. Just boom, changed her RSVP from Yes to No.

That left three. Still a party, in my book. Still super-exciting since having anyone in my space aside from roommates is so foreign.

Nancy and Debra. Also March babies (like yours truly) and friends to each other. They were coming together.

Until an hour — AN HOUR — before the party, I got a message.

“My friend doesn’t feel like going. Since she’s my ride, we’re not coming.”

Repeat. My friend DOESN’T FEEL LIKE GOING.

Just like that. Like today’s typical self-centered the-world-revolves-around-me 22-year-old. Except she’s not. Guesstimated age: 50.

I wanted to throw up. But I couldn’t. Wanted to cry. The tears lodged in my stomach then hardened into unmovable rock.

My stomach: the lifetime repository for all pains, hurts, angers, disappointments and black emotions. I *really* dislike crying. “Big girls don’t cry” my mother (yes mother, not father — there’s a gender twist!) implored me but not my younger sister, the star child she adored who could do no wrong while I was all wrong for being alive).

So I accept stomach problems in exchange. (Oh yeah. Add hate into the stomach mix. Major mother issues unresolved.)

The party aftermath, it wasn’t pretty. Best leave that alone.

The house, however, it was pretty. Truly beautiful. Sparkly clean. Such mindfulness  in the decorations. Simple, playful and creative. Such JOY in creating it all over several days.

And the food. Did I mention the joy of shopping? In the breaking of bread together?

Consider it mentioned.

Oh, and what of the homemade chocolate torte? That I decorated with the same joy and excitement as the rest of the party prep.

Two slices I had then into the trash it went.

Like I’ve long said: People. They ruin everything.

It’d be on my gravestone were I to have one. I won’t. So consider that my final thought on humanity.

And the party-poppers.

A birthday party to remember indeed.

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