Like the Grinch, except I can’t pull off green

Today’s beverage: hot tea

After one (or five) too many Michelob Ultras last night, my liver needed a break.

Did you miss me?! I know it’s been a bit since I wrote, but I had important things to do. I finally got to meet my niece!!! My family is scattered over several states, and this dang pandemic kept me away from the World’s greatest baby for the first four months of her life.

But now I’ve returned, and it’s time to this whole blog thing back underway.

Gather round boys and girls, because we’re gonna talk about birthdays! I’m turning the big 3-0 this year. Hence the age-based life crisis. Good-bye 20’s, hello to being that age where if you tell someone you’re pregnant, they’re not sure if you did it on purpose.


I thought I’d feel more like an adult at this point. But instead, I eat Lunchables on a routine basis, and I usually have to look up the instructions for baking a potato on the internet. At the same time, I’m trying to buy a house and I have a favorite bourbon. I’m all over the place.

Like, I have gray hairs, but I also still like poop jokes.

I can’t drink without a hangover, but I can still buy children’s shoes.

I have a 401k, but I still don’t go on vacation without running it by my parents.

You get the idea.

Anyway, I love birthday parties. I love party games, party snacks, party booze, the whole shebang. I mean hell, I have a piñata hanging in my kitchen from my boyfriend’s Super Soft Birthday Party, and that was a month ago. His name is Wallace, and I love him.

Here’s the catch. I only like these things when they are not mine.

That’s right, I do not celebrate my birthday.


When I was younger, I loved my birthday. I remember a lot of my birthday parties, and they. were. lit. In preschool, two boys got in a fist fight after one saw the other kiss me. You can’t pay for the that type of chaos. Seriously. You can’t. That would be highly illegal. I learned that on a episode of Law & Order. Baby fight club = jail. Dun Dunn.

Then there were the cakes. My mom was superstar when it came to birthday cakes. She could make anything out of a cake, and there was none of the fondant bull shit. Paul Hollywood would be giving out handshakes at warp speed. My favorite was a gumball machine, but all the gum balls were Skittles. One year for my brother she made two cakes. My brother wanted a cheesecake, but it turns out most other elementary school children don’t want cheesecake at a birthday party. Idiots.

Back to me.

My birthday falls during a great part of the year. It’s not like it’s near Christmas, like my brother. (SUCKS TO SUCK) I always got to bring popsicles to school, and some years it fell on our field days.

Here’s the thing about birthdays as an adult though. As much as I love celebrating people’s birthdays with them, there’s a line. I’m sorry, but you don’t get a “birthday month.” You get a day. Maybe a couple days if your schedule doesn’t allow for celebration with loved ones.

I feel like I should end this post with “and get off my yard!”

What happened to me to make me such a birthday Scrooge? It’s not like anyone pooped on my cake. Nobody punched me in the face at my party. Even the guy I accidentally threw an entire shot, glass and all, at on my 21st was super nice about it. I just don’t celebrate it. I have my reasons, and that should be that.



Who would have thought that me not wanting to celebrate a day that I guess is technically about me, would be such a problem for other people.

People do not like it when I say I don’t do my birthday. They want to “fix it.” Like ok, thanks for the sentiment, girl who just started dating my friend about 3 days ago, but it likely won’t be you who turns this ship around.

You’d think I’d cancelled Christmas. And I didn’t! Because as I’ve already said, my birthday is not at Christmas time!

To keep people from going rogue, I’ve actually stopped sharing when my birthday is. Now, I’m not dumb. I know that a lot of people know the date. But I also know that unless it comes up as a Facebook reminder, you’re likely not going to think about it until about 3 days late.

We’ve all been there.

For example, let’s say I have a friend who’s birthday is August 3rd.

Me on August 2nd: ok, Lucinda’s birthday is tomorrow.

Me on August 3rd: ….

Me on August 7th: FUCK. I DID IT AGAIN.

I bank on those exact brain farts. That, and the assumption that others will just accept my decision. And why wouldn’t you?! Now you don’t have to buy me a present! I’m saving you money. Hey hey you’re welcomeeee.

I do know one person that didn’t care that it was my birthday. The police officer that gave me a speeding ticket a few years back for going 70 in a 55. I’m not even mad. I respect the commitment.

You want to have yourself a birthday party? I’m all in. I even have a specific birthday party t-shirt, courtesy of Letterkenny and Etsy. Where do you think I drank all those Michelob Ultras on Saturday? That’s right, a birthday party. And where do you think my headache did not improve today? That’s right, a 5 year old’s birthday party. Both parties got two thumbs up in my book. If anything, today’s party was better because it was Disney Princess themed, and the other one was just beer-themed. Either way, both parties had a dog, so both were a success.

Speaking of multiple parties in one weekend, do you know who doesn’t mind my lack of fucks given to my day of birth? People who have a birthday in the general vicinity of my own. When I have kids, I’m going to time it out so all of their birthdays are near mine. Then I’ll never have to worry about it ever again. I’m a genius!

I’ve been trying to think of a cohesive conclusion to tidy this all up, and I think I’ve got it.

I will let the late, great DMX summarize my thoughts on my birthday.

“Y’all gon’ make me lose my mind
Up in here, up in here
Y’all gon’ make me go all out
Up in here, up in here”

I think we can all agree that this is not my best work, but I seem to be having a bit of a block lately. I will do better next time, I promise!

So until next time… I guess I need a closing catchphrase, but that’s a hurdle for another beer.

Now get off my lawn!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s