Last night I went to celebrate Jennifer's 40th birthday with Rachelle and Mandy. We had such a great time. Throw some burgers on the grill, have a Cosmo (or 5), and laugh your ass off until midnight. Throw in a healthy dose of girl talk while Dave is speaking to the League of Women Voters, and you have a recipe for a great time. It made me realize, however, that there are now just 12 days until my very own birthday.
Historically, my birthday has always been a fairly minor event. When your "I-survived-another-year-how-the-hell-did-that-happen" day falls at the beginning of school, you get used to minimal hoopla. Especially when you go to college. Everyone is too busy. They're stressing over the start of school, paying for books, or running out of town for one last visit home/camping trip/weekend shopping binge/etc. When in elementary school and junior high. I was moderately bitter about this. These days I take a more realistic approach.
After all, I don't FEEL different after 8:32am on August 25th. I don't need to have my oil changed or tires rotated, though a little body work and a new paint job would be nice. I don't magically obtain newfound wisdom...that happens on an on-going basis. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy getting presents, but it's not about the loot either. I have one theory about why having a birthday bash is a happy thing, but want to see if any of my gentle (or not-so-gentle) readers are channeling my psyche today, so take a stab at it. Comment away!