My birthday is this Sunday. The big three-oh. I thought Jennie Dorris, in Tuesday’s Black List, summed up quite nicely why this year is sure to be the most craptastic of all.
“HAVING A BIRTHDAY NEAR CHRISTMAS: I have a birthday on December 21. Yeah, go ahead and do what all my friends do, which is wince and go, “Man, I bet everybody gets you the combo-gift.” Then they promptly send a package with a Christmas-Birthday gift. Furthermore, a birthday on the 21st guarantees you a day with no friends around — finals are over or people have taken off work to go home for the holidays. The 21st is also the solstice, meaning my birthday is the shortest day of the goddamned year. I don’t even normally get an astrological sign — I have to jump between two since I’m on the cusp. Finally, this year decided to top the whole damn thing off by landing the 21st on a Sunday. A Sunday, for god’s sake. You can’t even buy booze in Colorado on Sundays. A boozeless Sunday with leftover friends and combo-gifts — bring it on, 24. F”
As acting Mayor of Bloggitonia, I hereby decree that, beginning next year, December 21st shall be observed on June 21st so as to elimate the combo-gift copout. And brown is no longer the new black. I decree that too.
Nick M.