ya say it’s my birthday

Na-na-na-na-NA-na. (you’re welcome for that little diddy today! stuck inside your head…over & over & over).

It’s my birthday tomorrow.  Biggest day of the year.  Well it was.  Until I had a son. I gave birth to him in March. Years ago. And my birthday has been trumped. Now birthday planning for March goes a little something like this:

Me: Where do you wanna have your birthday?

Will: Chuck E Cheese

Me: Jesus H Christ!  NOOOO! We went there last year.

Will: Chuck E Cheese

Me: Do you realize that place is hell?

Will: Chuck E Cheese

Me: What about the Bounce House?

Will: Chuck E Cheese

Me: (speechless but on the phone to my best friends at Chuck E Cheese)

I don’t like it. Not one bit.  I love my birthday. I wanna do it up B. I. G. each & every year! Big I’m telling you! Trips to Vegas. Dancing on the Ellen show. Maybe a little warm island escape.

Hasn’t happened yet and I’m more than a few years into this goat rodeo. Tomorrow’s big plans include getting up, getting the kids ready for school, showering (EEK!), dressing in pants that probably have buttons (dammit, it’s my birthday, so NO!), dropping the kids at school, driving downtown and spending a day in the office so I can get my annual review (review. not exam.) And STOP, I know the excitement you’re feeling for me. I can feel it myself, but you’re gonna need to simmer down.

The office used to be great. It used to be grand, and I would have loved to spend tomorrow with such great friends. But we were acquired and they killed the 14th floor. Dead. Some of us are still staggering around. We stagger. And we certainly don’t celebrate birthdays like we used to!

This is me on a bull. It’s what I do, I mean did, on my birthday.

And I took it very seriously. You know me, very serious. 

For a few years in a row, I’d gather up the troops and force (read: gently encourage) them to get their asses on the bull. The last time was a grand time. But then the 14th floor died. No bull last year. And I will not be getting on one this year.

To prove they exist(ed), here’s some of those aforementioned dead people.  RIP 14th floor

Maybe I’m going to Vegas? Maybe Ellen is calling to ask me to dance? I can see 40, people. Let’s hook it up!

2 thoughts on “ya say it’s my birthday

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