Okay, this is the second edition of this post. The first one, if any of you read it between 1 and 4 am was a little forlorn and perahps would have made some of you wonder if I was planning to kill myself on my 27th birthday. So, I decided to edit this and make it a little less melancholy.
As most of you know, I do not like my birthday. I will list below the reasons for those of you that don’t know and those of you who need a refresher:
1. 14th birthday: This was a crappy month of March. We had spent the first week of March in Michigan saying goodbye to Grandma Genow since she was dying of lung cancer. Then we came back to Oklahoma to wait for that to happen. So, it’s Friday, the weekend before my birthday. My friends are throwing me a party that night. I’d like to tell you how that party went but I can’t because round about 1pm at school that day, Mom strolls into the principals office to tell me Grandma is close to dying and we are leaving right then to go back to Michigan. So, we get to Michigan (not the best 18 hours I’ve ever spent in a car) and play the waiting game. And why do we have to wait? Because of my birthday. Everyone keeps saying Grandma is waiting to die until after my birthday. And while they say this like it’s a good thing, it sure didn’t seem that way at the time. And instead of the party with my friends, we had cake and opened presents on my birthday in the dining room of my grandmas house, in full view of the living room where she was lying in her hospice bed. (sorry to re-open this wound, family members, but it’s the biggest part of why I hate this day)
2. 22nd birthday: (another bummer, family) In December before my birthday, I had gotten the flu for the first (and sadly not the last) time and it knocked me on my ass. I still don’t remember most of that week. Unfortunately (as I’ve blogged on before) Aunt Marge died that week and I barely remember that trip to Michigan or her funeral. And while not remembering this really sucky event has it’s upsides, it also had one serious downside that reared its ugly head on my birthday. It was senior year of college and instead of being somewhere awesome for my last spring break, I was in Mexico with my nursing class and my least favorite nursing professor working in a border clinic as part of clinicals for that semester. Ugh. So, on top of that crap cake came the following crap icing: Grandma Sally calls me in the afternoon to wish me happy birthday and she asks me who else I have talked to and I list the people but then say how surprised I am that Aunt Marge hasn’t called yet because she always calls so early on our birthdays to catch us before we go to school. To which my poor Grandma Sally has to reply, after a bit of a pause, “Brianne, Aunt Marge is dead”. Yep, imagine getting that news on your birthday and I’m sad to say that it was news. It’s like the fact of her dying had been eaten by the flu virus and I sat there in my sad little Mexico hotel room, crying.
Now, I know these are only two birthdays in the 27 that I have had, but they were pretty bad ones and I just can’t seem to like my birthday as a result. It’s probably some subconscious fear that someone else will be dying on that day that makes me want to tuck my head into my shell (don’t you wish you had a shell like a turtle sometimes?) and wait out the day and then move on with my life on the 18th.
So, my apologies to those of you who like the birthday pomp and have to de-pomp on this day (Lisa). And my many thanks to those of you who have gone above and beyond the call of understanding and provided me with two of the simplest and best birthdays I’ve ever had:
1. Amber for providing me with my best birthday ever, #23 where just the two of us got wasted at Hudson’s while watching March Madness, took our picture with every person in the bar, then went home for some CSI: The Board Game. (don’t mock it, it’s hard).
2. And Meghan for birthday #26 where we applied fake tattoos (you know, like you do) and had a yummy dinner with some drinking, went to see Horton Hears a Who and then came home to open presents and have cake. Simple, quite, no hats or streamers and nobody died or tried to die or had to tell me someone had died.
Uh, remember in the opening paragraph where I said this edited version was less melancholy? I bet you’re really wondering what the first version was like.
So, a big thank you to all of you for your calls, cards, gifts, texts, etc this day even though I make it hard to do. You’re all great pals. Here are some birthday stats so far since everything is a competition:
First Birthday Text: Mindy Briggs
First Birthday Phone Call: Amber Turley (who wisely thought to call at 11:53 eastern time to ensure that she was on the phone with me the minute it became my birthday)
Tried to be the First Birthday Phone Call: John (who did not realize that crafty Amber was planning for this scenario)
First Birthday Card: Mom
First Birthday Wish in Person: Ezra’s mom who was the first person to see me this day as I was at work last night.
First Birthday Blog Shout-Out: Still up for grabs.
First Birthday E-Mail: Also still up for grabs.
Now, while you don’t actually get anything for being first in a said category, you do get the satisfaction of winning which is plenty for the Brianne’s, Amber’s and Zak’s of the world.
So, I again apologize (particulary to Dad) for this bummer of a post, but now you all understand where my head is on this particular day and why I often screen all calls and look mad when people mention that it’s my birthday.
So, Happy St. Patrick’s Day and Happy My 27th Birthday to you all! (Um, Dad, how old does this make you feel? My guess is ancient!)
