I was a fortunate child.
When I was little I had amazing birthdays.
Mostly because I have a wonderful mother who worked really hard at making them fun.
There were pottery painting parties.
A gymnastics birthday party.
A video game/arcade party.
Fun-fetti cupcakes cones.
Carvel ice cream cakes --with chocolate crunches.
Barbies, American Girl Dolls, books, movies, tapes, cds, cd players, watches,
brothers picking on me a lot less, and a big family dinner:
Tangible gifts of love from my parents who would ask,
"Did you have a good birthday? Which birthday was your favorite so far?
Which age are you most looking forward to?"
not so much.
A family member (whose relation to me will not be named to protect the mentally void)
says to me "happy birthday" as my father's casket is lowered into the ground.
Cue: Bad Birthdays.
This year, I just wanted it to be a day, give up on it being special.
But, a birthday miracle happened.
The usual shitty things occured,
but they have been beaten into tiny quivering wussy poo
... compared to the mighty strength of goodness this birthday.
None of it tangible.
No crazy cake.
I'm holding my "birthday party" at the Laugh Lounge 151 Essex St. Friday night at 7pm (plug, plug, plug)
...ok you got me that's kinda like workin' it, but whatever I LOVE this shhtuff*.
Gifts I got so far: new apartment (i got it for myself!), spot opening for Kevin Hart
(thanks to Erica Watson and her buddy Jackson),
calls and messages from a bunch of awesome friends.
: Donuts, lunch, extended awesomeness from the already awesome co-workers
: Really nice messages from family and friends
So, is the curse of the bad birthday over?
I think it's better than that.
I think I've just come to realize what a good birthday should be.
*I'm trying to curse less. I curse a lot. I love to curse. It's not a good love.
I caught myself there. I will now be saying: beans soup and nuts! sugar foot!
hells bells! cheeseandrice! for cripes sake! fargin' shoot! shhhtuff, muffer fuffer,
and the always fun cuuuurrrses! with my fist waving.