Ugh, Birthday

I think I should be voted the person least excited to turn 21 in the history of America.

Wait, wait, wait, back up. Let me rephrase... I am ECSTATIC to BE 21. I can't wait to stand in line at a bar and not wonder, "Hmmm, will today be the day they notice the fact that my ID has no hologram?" I'll be legal, I'll have passed the final threshold. No more, "Well at least you can buy cigarettes and porn!" No more, "So where IS Largo, Florida anyway?" I'll be entering a world of unicorns and rainbows and "Hey, you're 21, right? The world is your oyster!"

Sounds great. Now can someone please transport me past March 31st (The Day) and straight to April 1st, when I'll be legal and old and no longer haunted by this whole birthday thing?

It seems like the older I get, the more my birthdays blow. When I was a kid, it was all about presents and my birthday meal made by my mom and narcissism and cake. In high school too, birthdays were pretty awesome. I had a boyfriend all four years who made me cards and bought me presents and treated me like a princess. Plus, my best friend from high school shares my birthday (which is a freaky coincidence considering how similar we are) so we would do the whole bring-each-other-balloons thing so we could feel loved and adored and super cool. 

Sure, one year in high school a pack of girls I didn't know came up behind me and my balloons and slashed them with what I can only assume was a knife, but who cares? I thought it was a testament to the kind of hard-knock high school I went to since beneath my pasty white exterior and naivete, I like to think I'm a little bit of a ghetto-ass bitch. I mean, I really like that "to-the-windows, to-the-walls" song and I do a mean ass-shaking. 

But I digress.

Contrary to what has been written, this post is NOT about my penchant for shaking my ass (seriously, I'm good at it). What it IS about is my birthday, which is rapidly approaching regardless of how I wish it gone.

Allow me to complain for just a second (because it is MY blog and, well, skip ahead if you don't like whiners.) My birthday is a Tuesday... the Tuesday before the Thursday opening of the show I'm in. Which means, of course, no drinking. No wild partying. It means tech rehearsals the weekend before, four shows the weekend after, and class all week. It means I will be stressed out of my effing mind and exhausted and just trying to muster enough energy to not be a total wreck.

Oh, and one other small thing... that whole calamity with The Well-Intentioned Ex-Boyfriend. Allow me to give you an analogy: It's kind of like I have this big, festering, pussing, throbbing wound. And now it's starting to scab over, which allows me to live my daily life without constant pulsing, agonizing pain. But it still hasn't healed and doesn't show signs of healing for a very long time. Which, of course makes it very difficult to... Oh, I don't know, have fun? Enjoy things? I spend too much time and energy trying to be all, "I'm not dying inside!" to attempt, of all things, a BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.

Ok so let's recap: 

Ridiculously Busy Schedule. Check. 

Festering Emotional Wound. Double Check.

An Aversion to Spending Money and/or Consuming Too Many Calories. Check.

Ahhh, I forgot, one more thing. Last year's birthday? The big 2-0? Also dampened by heartbreak, the death of a relative, and, best of all, vomit clean up.

Woo! Let the festivities begin. Ugh*

*Okay, it felt wrong to end my blog post on such a cynical, F my L kind of note. So I'll make one admission: I AM planning on making cupcakes the day before my birthday to hand out at rehearsal. I'll sit and I'll decorate them and it will make me very happy to give them to people I love. And as long as people enjoy them, my birthday won't 100% suck.