Birthday Recounting

Pull up a chair while I recount the past week or so in which I have been unable/unwilling to update.

My birthday. An ungodly hot Thursday, the 28th of June. It began with multiple wakeup calls from my mother. She sweetly sang Happy Birthday to me, which would have been adorable at 10, but was downright infuriating at 6am when I finally answered the phone. I spent the first hour or so of my day fuming in bed as I tried to get back to sleep. I finally gave up and got moving.

Determined to get back on track, I went for a morning massage (gifted by my generous sister), followed by brunch with Joe, Monique and Becky at Nookies, an upscale eatery in Edgewater that I've been meaning to try. Lovely spot, good coffee, average chilaquiles. My favorite meal of the day with three of my favorite people. The stuff of birthday dreams.

Party Animals. 

After brunch, Becky dropped me off at work for a few hours. The twins had been talking about my birthday for weeks, but seemed unimpressed by the lowly birthday hats, sparkler candles and rice crispy treats I had provided. Look, dudes, if you want a swinging party, then you'd better contribute more than construction paper birthday cards with puff balls. Though they did add sparkly stickers. That was a nice touch.






After work, I went home to get ready for birthday drinks. I took my time getting dolled up (if not on your birthday, then when?). Joe said I looked beautiful. Then he made me take a few pictures of him. We headed to The Long Room, a dark and moody bar nearby that lets you bring your own food. We had packed an array of my favorite snacks to share: dolma, dubliner cheese, chocolate-covered bacon, homemade lemon-coconut bars. It was a lovely night of friends stopping by to celebrate and play a round of Cards Against Humanity.

Later at home, however, I found myself feeling a little...well...melancholy. I hate to be that guy, but I couldn't shake it, and I felt like a brat after all the sweetness my loved ones had showed me. I'd like to blame my sour mood on my rude awakening, but surely that can't be it. It's not that I resent getting older. After all, age is just a count of the number of times the earth has circled the sun since you were born. Few other astronomical occurrences get me down. Yet I felt decidedly weepy all day, despite the good times had by all. Is it all the expectations attached to such a day? What am I, seven years old again? My mom gets the birthday blues. She also manages to get Flag Day blues and Mexican Independence Day blues, so maybe that's a different story. But I did feel a little more sympathetic after my own inability to enjoy an otherwise perfect day. Whatever the reason, I sure hope this isn't the beginning of a new birthday tradition.