How to Ruin Your Own Birthday

...in 5 minutes or less. I hate birthdays. Well, just mine. Not yours. I remember a time when they were delightful, filled with cake and cards and dollar bills from old smelly people. As a teenager, my birthdays kicked ass. It was just me and my mom then, and the day was filled with dinner and something totally frivolous. I remember even turning 24 (maybe 23) we went to lunch, and I had a few glasses of wine. We laughed ourselves silly and she took me to see The Replacements, in order to satisfy my Gene Hackman fetish at the time.

Once I became involved with men, my birthdays went straight in the shitter. Usually, my boyfriend did not get me anything. Occasionally, they forgot all together. If I was fortunate enough to receive a present on my natal day, it was something they wanted for me, or it was a gift for someone the sales girl must have been thinking of at the time.

The past five years have especially sucked. My ex husband didn't get me so much as a card. He would purchase something lavish for himself on his birthday, but never for me.