Dear Birthday Girls,
This should be a letter of reprimand. This should be a letter about serious issues. This should be a letter about living a less self-involved life. A letter in which I scold you on your selfish desire to have everyone love you and cherish you and fawn over you and write you beautiful cards or emails and name a constellation after you on your birthday (or for some Birthday Girls — your birthweek); a letter in which I publicly decry the emphasis placed on birthdays by that special breed of girls who will never be satisfied until their birthday is declared a national holiday by the most holiest of holiday designation services (Wikipedia). This should be a letter full of snark and sass and a better-than-thou attitude because what girl, in this day in age, is still going on and carrying about like a Birthday Girl?
Me. I’m a Birthday Girl. I’ve had a creeping suspicion of this for years now but this week, when I turned twenty-eight (gulp!) I realized I could no longer deny the truth. I am completely and totally, through and through, a Birthday Girl. I’ve decided to accept this fact and own up to it, because I suppose if there’s one thing slightly more tolerable than a Birthday Girl, it’s a Self Aware Birthday Girl.
How do I know I’m a Birthday Girl? Well, for starters I’m writing a humor piece on a well-read website that’s published just a few days after my birthday (January 4th if you didn’t get the memo and/or send me a personal message in the form of a check made out to “cash”) and the image I’ve used for said piece is a photo collage of my birthday cake, my birthday balloons, and a conversation with Siri aka my new iPhone aka my birthday present who had quite the sassy response to my plea for birthday attention.
But to really understand the depth of my Birthday Girl mania, it’s important to look back at my birthday history. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever had a chance with a birthday so close to Christmas (according to some song it’s technically the eleventh day). How could I not make outrageous birthday demands for attention when my day to celebrate me was so close to the biggest gift-giving holiday of the year and thus resulted in the dreaded joint birthday-Christmas present (a staple of my past, present, and future)? And to make matters worse, my Half Birthday (oh yes, I am that much of a Birthday Girl) happens to fall on America’s birthday, the Fourth of July! THANKS A LOT, AMERICA.
The other reason I’m such a Birthday Girl? Paris Hilton. I have to give Paris Hilton big props for being the Queen of Birthday Girls. I mean, if it weren’t for her then I don’t know that I would have had three years of bi-coastal birthday parties in my early twenties. Yes, you heard that right, just like Miss Hilton, from the ages of twenty-three to twenty-five I had bl0w-out birthday bashes on both coasts, at hotspots (well, in my case — dive bars) in Los Angeles and New York. I guess the only difference between me and Paris Hilton is that well, she’s Paris Hilton, and I’m just some random Birthday Girl.
But the number one sign I’m a Birthday Girl? Besides posting about it on every social media platform and writing extensive posts on websites, I think it’s that deep down all I want for my birthday is a surprise party. Every year I dream of having a ho-hum day, just like my too-close-to-Christmas birthday is every year, and perhaps that night my boyfriend (actual guy TBD; now taking applications) tells me we’re going to have a simple night out, maybe a dinner at my favorite restaurant. But of course, in this Birthday Girl fantasy, it’s far from simple. Oh no, this dinner is, in fact, the biggest surprise party in which not only is everyone I know and love invited by my boyfriend (he’s very thorough), but every last one of them is there. Because there’s nothing I like more than when all my friends and family from all the different places and time periods of my life are in one room together, and they’re all there for me. So take note, future boyfriend, I want a surprise party and I want everyone to be there.
To all the other Birthday Girls out there: you do you. It’s the one day of the year (okay — for some of you, one week a year) that you can claim selfishness. So why not? As long as no one else gets hurt in the process, I think it’s totally okay to take some time to celebrate you.
Photo by Annie Stamell