You know, for a personal blog, I think that I do a pretty good job of keeping the whining to a minimum. Don’t I? Ok, so there was the post recently about my hairstylist opening up a can of whoop-ass on my head. I would say that was more enraged, and less whiny, but I’ll give you that one. I can see how that would qualify in the whine department. And I am predisposed to whine a bit about how cold I am alla time. But hey, think about what it would mean to go through life feeling like you were in a meat locker 24 hours a day. It’s surprising I don’t complain about that a bit more, really. These are things that were partly whiny, but a 100% textbook Whine has yet to happen on this here spoutfest of mine. UNTIL TODAY!
You’re so excited to keep reading. The anticipation is palpable.
Here’s the deal. I am already a bit annoyed with myself, and I haven’t even started to tell you yet. Just imagine how annoyed you’re going to be! My gift to you, people.
You know how I feel about birthdays. They are, to me, a huge honking deal. There is nothing more loving to me than acknowledging someone’s birthday. I love doing it. Love it. The idea that there is a designated day to shower someone you love with, well, LOVE, and treat them all special and stuff, and give them a big heaping pile of attention is just beautiful to me. Because people deserve attention, just for their sheer them-ness. Not because they fulfill a specific role or identity, not for doing something extra, just for existing. I mean, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day, wedding showers, baby showers– they’re all great, don’t get me wrong, I am all for them and always participate in them with gusto. But those days are for honoring something specific about someone. Hey, thanks for doing all that Mom stuff- Happy Mother’s Day! That’s cool, and deserved. Hey, I think it’s swell that you’re legally in love with someone, happy wedding shower! (Is that what weddings mean? I don’t really know. Sorry, that one has always confused me). But a birthday? The only qualification for this is that YOU WERE BORN. That’s it. You were born and so you get to have a day! It’s the perfect thing to showcase the fact that you are enough. Just you. How you are. Mom or not. Young or not. Partnered or not. You deserve a party and cake and presents and everyone smiling and hugging you and telling you you are fabulous. Just for BEING. I can’t express to you how, on a Deep Philosophical Level, this speaks to me. I believe in birthdays. Like, it’s part of my moral code. Or something. Whatever.
So, in a couple of weeks, it’s my birthday. (Bet you were wondering when the whining was going to start. Wait no more. Release your bated breath!) And for the life of me, I could not decide what the hell I wanted to do for my day. Should I throw a party? Should I invite my pals to a show? Should I take trip? Get a tattoo? Go bowling? Go dancing? I could not decide. Still can’t. The day creeps up, and I have no Big Plans for the Day of Me-ness. Why? What was holding up the party train?
You know what it is? I finally figured it out. People out there do not give a rat’s ass about birthdays. They really don’t. And the older I get, the more I am starting to feel like I am the sole cheerleader for birthdays, and this here cheerleader is getting kind of tired. Why be the only one cheering for something that no one really seems to care about? Why be the only one who shows up to the theater to see Ishtar? Maybe everyone else is right. Maybe weddings and babies and getting jobs and leaving jobs and graduating and all that stuff is when it’s appropriate to have a party. Maybe people need all that stuff to get it up, and just being is not good enough for a trip to woot-ville.
I don’t know. I’m losing the birthday faith, people. I just am. After all these years of carrying the torch forward, I may just have to put it down. I came to the screeching realization the other day that, aside from my mom, my dad, and my Nordic Boy, no one has ever planned anything for my birthday for me. It’s always me, getting my own goddamn cake and throwing my own goddamn party and rallying the troops to celebrate me. Please, come on, let’s celebrate me. Kind of pathetic, actually.
That’s what I’m thinking. I told you it was whiny. Just give me a day or two. I’ll be less stupid next post. (Notice I didn’t say I wouldn’t be stupid. Just LESS stupid. Less.)
Tell me, what was the best birthday present anyone ever got you?