catch up… july
Last month I turned 40 years old. Sometime in mid-July, I gathered together with my closest friends (that were able to travel) and celebrated a day that I never though would arrive. I’ve never been the type of person to celebrate my birthday, because, well, to be honest, I didn’t do anything. I just showed up. You could say it set the stage for my professional life but that is another story for another day.
In my entire life, I’ve had 5 birthday parties. My first party was when I was a year old and I have no recollection of it even occurring. I could be fabricating the very fact the party happened. My second party occurred when I was in the 8-13 range. (I’ve never really been good with time and dates.) My third party occurred when I was 29 and took place at a tiny little sushi joint in Noe Valley here in San Francisco. The eight people that attended took over the restaurant and it was one of, if not the best, sushi meals ever. New to that party was Birthday Rick, so called because he was my birthday present to myself. We met 3 days prior to the event and I invited him immediately. He must have enjoyed himself since he’s still part of my life. The following year, 30, saw a concerted effort by several friends and the BF du Jour to throw me a house-based birthday party that was well attended and a lot of fun.
That was it. Until this year when, over a big glass of wine, I was advised there would be a party to mark year 40. I was assured there would be nothing for me to do except show up. Ok, then, sure. Let’s do it and the invites went out far and wide to my core group of friend that have scattered to the corners of the country and world.
The event was planned and the venues shopped. Decided upon and revised and revised again. It grew to enormous proportions. We were talking 100 guests and thousands of dollars and I finally blew a gasket and said “No”.
I cancelled the party, and requested my deposit back from the restaurant. But… not the entire deposit. Nor was the party completely cancelled. I wanted to spend my 40th birthday with those that are most important to me and I did.
There were 14 people circling the table, the gifts all carried a duct tape theme and the homemade cake shaped like an iPhone complete with apps blew my mind. (Even more so when they circled it with 40 candles and set it alight). They turned down the lights in the restaurant but I swore they turned them on full.
All in all I enjoyed my 40th birthday immensely and I’m very glad that I was convinced to throw the party.
Sorry I missed it. I may not have been invited, but I’m glad you had a great and fulfilling birthday. After the past year you’ve had, you deserve it.
Next time I see you I want to take you to dinner for a late 40th present (I’ll probably be in SF in October)
You know… I don’t feel so bad for missing out now seeing how I wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it out there – however, after seeing Homer’s and Chrisfon’s responses, I’m kinda angry that I’m the only one who *still* gets the cold shoulder for not showing up. And the only reason I missed was because I couldn’t afford to fly out with Hubby outta work (and you KNOW I woulda if I coulda had I not been trying to keep BOTH of our asses from going homeless).
I don’t know why I care, but seeing these replies months later really angers me (especially when you didn’t return any of my calls/emails all the times I’ve tried). Maybe you just needed a reason to stop keeping in touch? If so, then I’m glad my personal hardship made an easy out for you. I probably wouldn’t have fit in with all the rich and uber-trendy friends surrounding your dinner table anyway…
Nothing counts for nothing anymore – not even a friendship forged in Chicago. Fuck me for not slapping you with that chocolate martini when I had the chance. That would’ve been the best birthday present I could’ve ever given my sistah – a slap upside the head with some goddamn humility! (I’ll keep the cherry, thanks).
In fact, if I never talk to you again let me give you one last piece of sisterly advice for the road – just to show you how much I fucking cared even when I couldn’t be there: Bitch, go to the fucking gym and lose weight because you want a few more days added to your existential tally so you can live out the rest of your life in happiness with your BF – and not because you want to look and be seen as something fantastic in and around SF.
Life’s too short at 40 to start giving a shit what other people think of you now.
Now get your ass off that goddamn laptop and go take Stella for a walk – and give my home gurl a loving hug from me (assuming she even remembers me).
Muthafucka…