Computer update: Laptop is getting repaired, so I'm using Capricorn's computer for now, but that means no Teen Mom recap yet. I did watch the episode, though. Ryan was as sparkling and personable as ever.
Yesterday, Children of the 90s gave a great start to my birthday guest post series, offering a look at famous people born in the 1990s. You all proceeded to threaten bodily harm on yourselves for feeling old. No one followed through, though. Looks like I called your bluff.
Today, Jenners is going to recap her birthdays through the years. I particularly enjoy her 11th birthday. Give her some comment love, and then stop over at her blog, MrsFligs.blogspot.com, where you are sure to enjoy her interactive and self-deprecating style. She also has an amazing profile photo.
When Andy asked me to do a guest post during his Big Birthday Celebration, he used almost every tool in his persuasion arsenal: flattery (he called me friendly!) and vague threats of violence (a kitten's life may or may not have been threatened). Although he chose not to overtly play the "I did one for you so you owe me" card, it was there, hanging like a cloud over my head. So here I am, writing a guest post for Andy's 27th Birthday Extravaganza. (Does this thing have an official name or what?)
Anyway, I wanted to be sure to ramble (as a bit of a homage to Andy), and I think I've accomplished that. So on with the actual topic of my post, which is a summary of my own birthday celebrations over the years. We've got a lot of ground to cover as I'm not a young whippersnapper like Andy (as evidenced by the use of my term "whippersnapper") so here goes.
Birth Day: Darkness. Pain. Light. Screaming and crying (which, I realize in retrospect, was my own). No cake is offered, but I'm given my first taste of oxygen.
1st Birthday: First taste of cake. In the tradition of virtually all babies, 90% of it smeared on my face, hair and hands. But the sugar is a jolt to my system and begins a life-long struggle with chocoholism (which is strange as the cake was vanilla).
2nd Birthday: More cake. A dawning realization that birthdays = presents for me.
3rd Birthday: I know the drill now and use all my skills (whining and nagging) to ensure a good birthday haul.
4th Birthday: First foray into the world of birthday parties. (Back in "olden days," birthday parties were held at home. None of this renting out a museum or ice skating rink to celebrate your birthday.)
5th through 9th Birthdays: More of the same, with birthday parties reflecting my interests, with a heavy emphasis on unicorns.
10th Birthday: The introduction of my family's "you get to choose a restaurant to eat at" birthday tradition. My choice? The expensive and exotic (to my young self) Magic Pan, a crepe restaurant. I proceed to consume $75 worth of crepes by myself. After my brother follows up with an extravagant trip to Benihana for his birthday, my parents rethink this new tradition and institute a spending cap and prior restaurant approval.
11th Birthday: Suffering under the new regime, I'm forced to have my birthday dinner at Friendlys.
12th Birthday: First boy-girl party. To maximize the stress and awkwardness, I get my period for the first time just hours before the party. No kissing is involved as we are all nerds and geeks. Everyone comes in a costume. The big activity is throwing plates filled with whipped cream at each other in the back yard.
13th through 15th Birthdays: Nothing memorable happens except an increasing sense of resentment and lots of seething that my younger brothers are still permitted to celebrate their birthdays like a kid (meaning decorations, parties and lots of cake) while I am informed I am "too big" for such things.
16th Birthday: Nothing particularly special that I recall. I certainly didn't get a car or fly all my friends to Rome like those spoiled freaks on MTV.
17th - 20th Birthdays: Fewer and fewer gifts are received. I begin experiencing a slight melancholy during birthday time as I'm not made to feel "special" enough.
21st Birthday: In the grand tradition of reaching drinking age (a full year behind almost all of my friends), I "get drunk" for my birthday. This results in five minutes of pointless giggling followed by the spins followed by extreme discomfort.
22nd through 26th Birthdays: Out on my own, only relatives recognize my great day, unless I am somehow able to work it into a conversation at work and score a cake.
27th Birthday: I've been married for several days and am already experiencing the first of many realizations that perhaps I've made a mistake in my choice of mate. Note to girls: DO NOT let your age influence your decision to marry someone. The following statement is FALSE: "Well, I better get married now or I'll be alone for the rest of my life and he did ask..." Note to boys: 27 is a fine age to propose. Sidenote: I was not unduly influenced by my wish for Andy and Capricorn to get married already. It seems obvious to me they are soul mates. I wouldn't use a guest post like this to make not so subliminal hints. (Ed. note: Hint taken. Geez!)
28th through 29th Birthdays: Nothing remarkable other than a sense of growing unhappiness with my life.
30th Birthday: My one and only surprise birthday party given to me by my coworkers.
31st Birthday: I give myself a present when I decide to ask for a divorce (not on my actual birthday but right around this time).
32nd Birthday: Newly divorced and trying out Internet dating, I'm confused by the fact that I've met the man who may be Mr. Right but I'm afraid to trust my instincts. Mr. Right showers me with presents and takes me out to dinner. (Note: This birthday review seems to have taken a sad track. Sorry about that.)
33rd Birthday: Married again! The start of an increasing complex series of Birthday Game Challenges between my husband and me. For this year, I must solve a series of riddles to earn my gifts. I'm now confident I met Mr. Right.
34th through 35th Birthdays: Increasingly elaborate series of Birthday Games involving trivia, homemade Price Is Right games and scavenger hunts dominate. Begin a new tradition of getting a Carvel ice cream cake for my birthday. (Love those chocolate crunchies!)
36th Birthday: The last birthday that will be even a little bit about me as I'll have a child within a year. If I'd known, I would have done something amazing like go to Paris and eat crepes.
37th Birthday: I've been a mom for two days. I receive a box of caramels; the baby receives mounds of presents. I realize it isn't about me anymore. Dammit! Why did my son have to be born just two days before me? Unattractive pouting ensues (possibly due to excessive hormones and the stress of being a new and inexperienced mother).
38th through 42nd Birthdays: Yep ... just as I suspected. My birthday no longer matters as it is overshadowed by the bright light of having my son's birthday just two days before mine. To compensate, I insist on having my own personal Carvel ice cream cake and I EAT IT ALL BY MYSELF!
43rd Birthday: My husband realizes just how wonderful I am and whisks me away for a vacation all by ourselves. (Note: I'm only 42 so this is merely a fantasy on my part. The chances of this actually happening are slim to none.)
Happy Birthday, Andy! Thanks for letting me a part of your celebration. (And this is my gift to you. Don't expect anything else.)
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