Birthday Musings of a Madwoman

Today we commemorate the event of my birth. And what a fucking day that was, my friends. Born during a typical NY snow, first thing in the morning, this kid came out with strawberry blonde hair and a ferocious set of lungs! Ready, willing, and able to join the ranks of Queens residents, I started my life in Maspeth, NY. Back in 1971, people actually gave a shit about birthdays. Now, I am not saying they don't today, but come on. A Facebook post is not an actual birthday card. It took you all of six seconds, maybe, to do. No thought, no effort. Yet, today, in 2015, it is deemed efficient, effective, and acceptable. I call BULLSHIT. What happened to going down to your local Hallmark store and perusing the cards, picking them up, reading, laughing to yourself, being unable to decide, and perhaps walking away with at least two? Then you'd race home to write them out, laughing again at your fine selection. The next step is one most people don't do anymore. You walked to the mailbox to slip those babies in to be delivered to the birthday person. What a feeling of satisfaction. Not so today. As of today, I've received one card. ONE! Really? I send them to everyone. WTF?! Am I the last of a dying breed? If you base your answer on my mailbox, then, yes I am.

Personally, I feel that birthdays are the best days of the year and should be celebrated as such. Marking the day we came into this crazy world, kicking and screaming, what better way to acknowledge it but to have a party, with cake and candles? Yet, people are letting the day slip by without so much as a hoot and a holler. Why? Someone loved you enough to endure hours of labor and the pain of childbirth, the least you can do is make a big deal out of it. Really, what you should be doing is saying thank you to the woman who went through all that so that you could be here today, acting like an asshole and ignoring the importance of the day. Maybe that's what birthdays should be. Recognition for those who raised you, those you turned you into the person you've become. They are the ones who deserve the card, the cake, the gifts...the fanfare. I'm sure you don't agree with me. Now, you want the cards, the celebratory nonsense. It's sounding very appealing now that I've attempted to take it away from you. What an asshat.

Let's continue along the lines of what your birthday means. Mine is a very special day for me. I have always looked forward to it with great anticipation, like a small child. May sound silly to you, but it's my day, and gawdeffindammit, I love it oh so much. Getting older is not always a bad thing, and to me it means I've survived another year. I'm still here...all you haters can suck it. Feels good! I look forward with joy to being one of the Golden Girls. I want to be that old lady, the one who wears the wild animal prints, has purple hair, and still throws up the rock sign when AC/DC comes on. And bitches, I will. So, with each year that passes, I feel like my birthday gets better and even more exciting. I want to be a snow bird. I want to go to Florida and sun worship, play shuffle board, and gossip with my friends. Racing to collect on those Early Bird specials just because I can. Am I the only one? My daughter fights against it, saying she never wants to get old. At 19, I can see feeling that way. The immortality of youth. I do remember that. But now, at 44, I want to see what comes next.

Let's be clear, I can still remember my Sweet 16 with fond memories. Being young was fantastic for me. I had a great life, for the most part, leaving out the stuff and nonsense that needs not be discussed on my special day. But, can we be real? You're young once. And with good reason. Growing up doesn't necessarily suck as much as most people would lead you to believe. Yes, there are bills, responsibilities, and loads and loads of laundry. However, there is an amazing amount of freedom. Endless freedom, to say and do whatever you want. Now, I'm sure you'll remind me that we do have rules and bosses and spouses to answer to...and you'd be right, for the most part. Tell, me...who is gonna stop me from coming home from work and having a glass of wine? Who will take my car keys and prevent me from going to Ulta and spending way more than is ever necessary in one shopping trip? Who among you has the balls to tell me not to eat that giant spoonful of peanut butter right out of the jar? Didn't think so. Beyond the basic adult list of "musts" like work, pay for shit, and clean up after yourself, there lies the entire world at your fingertips. How fucking great is that? Saturday comes along, I can hop in my car, throw the top down, and head wherever I'd like. Blasting the music I want to hear, singing at the top of my lungs, destination unknown. I don't have to ask for permission, keep a curfew, or call when I get there. Who has it better?

So, why don't we give birthdays the recognition they deserve. Pick up your phone and call someone having a birthday. Even a text is more personal than posting it on Facebook for everyone to see. Not that I don't enjoy seeing my timeline fill up with birthday wishes, but boy would I love to see my phone light up or my mailbox have cards bursting out of it. I don't think I'm asking for much. No one's life is so busy that they can't take out a minute or two to wish someone they supposedly care about a happy birthday. I know you would like to think your life is jam packed to the gills and you don't have a minute to breathe much less time to text me today. But, remember this. I would and will at the very least text you. Hell, you may even get a card from me. Do you deserve it knowing how you act on my birthday? Are you friggin kidding me right now???