March 12, 2002 - 7:19 a.m.

You're going to have your birthday cake -

- AND like it!

For the record: 

I never thought I would be one of those people who would stop counting my age. Or, who wouldn't remind people a month in advance they had better start preparing for the greatest event in their lives: my birthday! I always had a "birthday week" that involved one entire week of indulgences, decadences and greed without guilt.

This year, I am depressed, poor with a bleak outlook on my future. I was considering postponing my birthday until my anti-depressants kick in and I could enjoy it more. NO WAY!

People insist on celebrating your birthday on the date you, your mother or the doctors, had decided to rip you from the womb. Secrets are being told, plans made, gifts have been bought. Just like Xmas in Who-Ville, you can't stop your birthday from coming. So, while everyone's gathered around the tree happily singing nonsensical songs, I'm trying to climb up to the Grinch's lair and ask him if I can sit quietly outside his door until it is all over. But, now that the Grinch has gotten into the whole party-atmosphere thing, I don't have anywhere to go.

It's just like those photos your parents have of you when you were 1 and they shoved cake in your face. The party is for the adults - not the kid. All of the relatives are smiling as they put that stupid dunce cap on your head with the elastic that pinches your skin that makes you cry. "Oh, no! She's crying! Give her more cake!"

Actually, the birthday would be better if I was 1-years-old. At least I wouldn't know what was going on. I could have a big sugary cake to mash my hands into. Hey! That's what I need.

So, happy fucking birthday to me. I'm going out to buy a cake.

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