Birthdays

"I'm single because I was born that way." -- Mae West

Okay, with that said, I must say more. I was thinking about my birthdays. Most notable was my 15th because I received the best birthday gift I ever got -- on my 15th birthday, my baby brother was almost born -- my mother labored all day on my birthday but little Mr. Stubborn wanted his own birthday -- and managed to ruin my birthday party in the process.

But this allows me to seque into my topic for today: It's my blog and I can be selfish and ungrateful if I want to!

I mean, it's not that I haven't gotten stuff -- dinner, a song, a day out (mini-golfing rocked), a day to hang out with my friends, etc. I don't remember opening a lot of presents -- unwrapping paper and bows with surprises in the box. My mother has taken to handing me gifts in shopping bags or QVC boxes with no wrapping paper (when I actually get anything). My grandmother (for a long time) sent me a card with a running tally of how much money I owed her. Now I get a recycled birthday card (sometimes it's a Christmas card she got from some nun somewhere) and occasionally a check for $15.00.

Some of my friends have given me presents in gift bags and the like -- and actually, Chris wrapped up something for me in a really cool Queen Elizabeth wrapping paper once (I think it was a book) -- but what is my point? I know, I know. I'm dwelling. I have a point that I'll get to soon.

One year, my birthday present from two (at the time) "very good friends" was that I took them camping. I paid for the gas, the camp site, the firewood, the booze, the cigarettes, the food. And lest I forget -- I had to pay for my own birthday dinner and for theirs, too. But I went skinny dipping while drunk in the Mississippi River. I can still smell that at times -- I don't know if it was the river or the wine we poured into the camp fire. The scent lingered -- and still does.

I used to get a million phone calls on my birthday. I used to be able to get dozens of friends together for a night out or a pool party.

Last year, I went out with one (very close) friend to somewhere I didn't really want to go but felt like I had to because I had done that same thing on my birthday for some 10 years before. He was really nice about dragging me out even though I think he knew I really didn't want to go, either.

A birthday (I think 4 years ago) marked the LAST time I would spend the night on the bathroom floor and the next 2 days nursing a massive hangover. I haven't been drunk since. Note to self: Chasers work for up to "6 drinks." A martini counts for about 2 1/2 drinks. In other words, I can't have 6 martini's and still enjoy the preventative effects of Chasers. My math sucks.

I turned 21 on a camping trip to Wisconsin Dells with my ex-boyfriend and his friends -- I often quip that I turned 21 at an Ozzy Osborne concert. Technically, I turned 21 downtown Wisconsin Dells carrying a bottle of wine I had picked up at a local tourist site -- I am not lying though, because on my birthday, we drove down to Alpine Valley and went to see Ozzy. I recall that I was driving because I was the only one who had a car that could carry more than 2 people. Actually, it was a rental -- I had totalled my first car only a week before the trip. I couldn't use the pool at the campground because I had stitches in my knee from the accident. But I spent my 21st birthday at an Ozzy concert.

This year, I expect no gifts from my family. I didn't get any gifts from them last year, either. I haven't really gotten a birthday present from any family member for about 5 years. We all get birthday dinners, though. Usually, the whole family comes over and everyone contributes a little something to the meal. This year, though, Mom and Dad are taking Michael and I out for our birthdays to the Chicago Chop House for dinner, tonight. I just have to say, though, that Michael got his presents from my mom already (a shoping trip to Carson's a few weeks ago). I am receiving no such shopping trip -- I can only hope that my mother doesn't bug me for a check to pay her back for all the crap she charged me for the last two months.

[UPDATE: Mom came downstairs a few minutes ago -- 11:45 or so -- and wished me happy birthday. She also "reminded" me that the swimming suit she gave me last month is my birthday present -- whatever happened to wrapping paper and bows -- brown paper packages tied up with string? Anyway, I didn't have the heart to "remind" her that I wrote her a check for that last month -- I have the carbon with "swimsuit" written in the memo area. So another birthday with no package to unwrap, dammit.]

Waah, waah, waah. I know. This is a pity party. I feel so damned self-righteous and wronged this morning. What the fuck?

I could go on for hours -- but I'll stop here before this turns into a diatribe on how I always get the short end of the stick in this family. I've got that whining tirade typed up in Word and ready for the day I've had enough and decide to post the complaints on the refrigerator.

So, in short -- it's my fucking birthday. Don't even think about asking how old I am! But, on the upside, I have no gray hair and I feel really good. I guess it's not so bad. I have a puppy who is FINALLY potty training!