Presents
Well, Saturday is my 34th birthday. I tried to round up some old birthday articles in the archives, but only found a post for my 32nd birthday and one for the 31st. I had brain surgery right before my 33rd birthday, so I didn’t bother to write anything special.
I have no idea what those two articles are about because I never re-read my work. I horrify me.
I’ve never liked my birthdays, but I do still observe them. This year, I took off the two days here before the 10th with big plans! I even made a list. For Thursday: Groceries, potting soil, rum, vodka, Alavert. Repot plants, clean apartment, organize finances, drink.
Friday is going to be a little different. On the list: Drink on the balcony and expose myself to children.
Saturday, the big day, starts with the traditional Sci Fi freakout, then mimosas at 9am. I bought some weird fruity shit today, and stole two cases of champagne from my weekend job. Though that was a week ago, so now I’m down to three bottles. I’ll then move into this fancy wine I stole.
My good friend Lonnie will be joining me with his impossibly lovely wife. And some feral dog they pulled out of the sewer. We’re all going to sit around and drink far too much and watch some trashy sci-fi. What’s on tap? The original V miniseries and the slightly flawed follow-up – The Final Battle.
I have to insert this comment somewhere: Lonnie’s making a movie, which you should all check out. Here’s his production blog.
I’m constantly nagging people to go to my Amazon wishlist and buy shit for me, because I’m greatly comforted by material acquisition. And it’ll save me money because, once a month or so, I go insane and buy things for myself.
I come from a small family that’s far too dysfunctional for gift giving. My grandmother was the only one who really understood that it was cool to buy a book or a movie or something and wrap it up. She’s gone, now, so that’s that.
My grandfather’s idea of a gift is to show up at my apartment around midnight, unannounced, with a case of beer and a woman…and then tell me to get lost.
That’d be funny if the woman was 20, right? They aren’t, though. He picks up these weird blue hairs in their 80’s. Giggling and sucking down booze. Hey, kid, go see a movie while we use your bed!
It’s one in the morning!
My uncle operates under the thinking that if I hate my birthdays, then I also hate presents. Does that make sense? Who hates presents? Everyone likes presents. Dogs and cats like presents.
His sister, my crazy aunt, and her deeply dysfunctional daughter, give the gift of not calling me. That’s taken years of ignoring the phone and the door and the mail to earn, by the way.
And that’s it for the family. We have a huge number of
This means it falls to my ever-suffering friends to fill the gift giving gap. They already painstakingly take time out of their schedules to drive all the way to the upper suburbs, sit in an uncomfortable chair, and watch me drink in moody silence. But that’s not enough for me. So I send them repeated notes about my wishlist, and occasionally show up at their front door in the wee hours with an 80 year old hooker hanging off my arm.
Oh, okay, I don’t do that. Not yet. But I’m keeping a list of things I want to do when I turn 80 that are fucking out of this world insane. My grandfather is the primary inspiration, of course. I have a far flung cousin in
I have no deep observations here at the end of my 33rd year. Except, of course, I have outlived Jesus. Therefore, I’m the better man. He not only showed up at the door with a hooker, but he was also dragging along a bunch of guys. That’s what the Last Supper’s all about. Judas was happy in his little apartment, and then the whole gang shows up.
Hey, we stopped by for dinner.
What the fuck, man?
Times like that when you look at the caller ID, see that it’s Caiaphas, and then finally decide to take the call. Yeah? Yeah, he’s here. Yes he is a fucking asshole, I have nothing but bread and wine! Oh… Well, sure, that would be enough to get more groceries…
I could actually go on forever like that, but I won’t. Because it’s 2pm on Thursday as I write this, and the rum should be chilled by now. And don’t call me a faggot for chilling my rum. And help me complete my Doctor Who collection. Here’s the wishlist link again.
Happy birthday. I might be late, but I don’t care about that.