Yesterday was my 28th birthday. Which, in regards to this blog, means I have exactly two years to finish my list. As of right now, I'm nowhere close. But enough about that.
I think it's funny how excited I get over my birthday. Especially since they usually don't turn out to be what I expected. But like every other hopeful girl I forget the bad times of my birthday and focus on my favorite part: a day devoted entirely to me. What else could an egotistical self-centered woman want?
As I'm sure you know I've been watching a lot of 30 Rock lately due to my lack of cable and my new obsession with Netflix on the Wii. I don't find it coincidental at all that the episode that came on a while ago was a birthday episode. In fact, I found it to be a sign. Well, maybe two signs. The first is that depressing movies will no longer be allowed in my house because they affect me too much. The second is that even if birthdays suck as you get older and no one makes a big deal out of them anymore... wait. That actually might be the sign.
This particular episode was about one of the character's 50th birthday and he found that his birthday party didn't measure up to his 10th birthday because he wasn't happy. But then he laughed at something and was happy. Or something like that. I think the message I got from it was a little vague.
My point is that birthdays just aren't special anymore. Sure, people post generic "Happy Birthdays" on my Facebook wall. My mom bakes me a funfetti cake every year even though I don't like cake. (Although this year she surprised me with birthday tiramisu which is my favorite dessert. Isn't my mom awesome?) Friends send me text messages or go out to dinner with me for my birthday. All of that used to make my birthday great. And it still does... but not in the same way. I've realized that it isn't those things that make me enjoy my birthday. It's the little things that seem ridiculously insignificant and no on really remembers except me.
My favorite episode of Sex and the City is the one where Carrie plans this big dinner for her birthday and none of her friends show up for whatever various reasons and she's left sitting at the restaurant all alone. It's pretty pathetic. As she's nearing her apartment later in the evening (after her friends come through in the end), upset and miserable, Mr. Big is there and makes everything better. Not all right, just better. Here, watch the clip:
My 23rd birthday was like this. Without going into the details that was honestly my worst birthday. I felt like I had no friends, no one cared about me, etc. And then one of my good guy friends, in typical fashion for him, pulled a Mr. Big. He told me something along the lines of "Shut up, it's your birthday. Happy birthday," as I was whining about how unhappy I was. Instantly cheered me up. It didn't make everything all right, but it definitely made my birthday better.
All in all, this birthday was pretty good. I really do have great friends, I'm overall happy to be me, and 28 isn't so bad. I still have a long way to go in my quest to accomplish my list before I'm 30 but all I can say is this: bring it on and, in the words of Mr. Big, "Happy birthday, baby."
Now all I need is a tall, dark and handsome man to show up with red balloons...