I don't want another birthday for at least a year.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


I usually take the personal stance of "I have nothing to celebrate because everything is awful" on birthdays, and I have had some classically terrible birthdays (like that year I was manipulated into moving to Nashville & worked a 12 hour day, and then went to bed at 6 PM, or that year my first day of 7th grade fell on my 12th birthday and I got my period all over my shorts, or that year a "friend" of mine told me she set up a huge party for me, when in reality she asked one guy to meet her at her house so they could make out, and I sat embarrassingly alone at home with a pantry full of party food that my dad bought at Costco for the party that was never happening) but this year was pretty decent. At the final hour I decided to throw together a small dinner with a few close friends who have bothered to keep in touch with me.

I am surprised by how many of the people I invited showed up. I usually feel like a friendless bitch, but I guess most peeps totally love me as much as I love them.

We laughed about how boy-crazy Annie and I were in high school; we laughed about how Monica's son would be hurled into a giggle fit if we spoke to him in Spanish; we laughed about that time a few weeks ago when I was turned down for a job because of this blog and my "drinking habits"; we laughed about that time Brittany's quiet and unassuming father called one of our then-closeted gay friends a "whore."

Everything isn't awful. I have a half dozen friends who will drive an hour to eat tacos with me, a family who still bakes me a cake from scratch every year, a few part-time jobs with fun families, and a smart, handsome, funny guy who tells me he loves me even though I act super unlovable all the time.

In all honesty, I have a lot to celebrate.