Only 5 days left till my 32nd birthday. My Dad’s 67th birthday is tomorrow. I’m making a quick trip home this weekend to celebrate both our birthdays, something I’ve done for several years now. I used to cook for my Mom’s and my Dad’s birthday, but several years ago it was brought to my attention that Dad didn’t like my cooking. So ever since then, it’s been hamburgers and french fries cooked up by my sister. Mom still likes for me to cook for her though in September, well, I think she does. She says she does, but you know how Moms are. Maybe everyone really hates my cooking and they are just being nice?? (shrugs)
Mom is cooking for my birthday on Sunday, and I do truly love her cooking. I think she’s making spaghetti, a favorite of mine. And there will probably be an ice cream cake from DQ. Speaking of cake, I have to either buy one or bake one to take to work on Friday. Our department rule is that you bring your own cake on your birthday, or you can bring whatever you want. Everyone outside of work laughs at this and thinks it’s retarded, but how many times have you been in an office situation where someone was in charge of birthdays and someone’s birthday was forgotten? Or someone got a bigger cake than someone else because everyone likes them more anyway? Well, my department makes you bring your own cake so that you can have whatever you want. One girl brought a fruit tray one year because she was on a strict diet. I took cupcakes for a year or two. But this Friday, I think I will bake a cake! I like to joke that you have to bring your own card too for everyone to sign.
Let it be said that I hate cards…cards that are handed to you anyway. Sure, I buy them and give them just like anyone else, but I much prefer to get them in the mail. I never know if I should keep the card or throw it away. I never look back on them, so I should probably just throw them away. I’ve been keeping Xmas cards for years which I say I’m going to cut up and use for name tags or something.
My cubicle at work will also be littered with tacky decorations when I come in on Friday, a custom I’ve had to do myself for my boss after the poor person went home the day before. It’s like playing Santa but leaving bad gifts…shiny birthday signs and twisted crepe paper, cake cut outs and blow horns and big sign that says The Party’s Here. You sit there all day on the phone under the curtain of glitter and glam and everyone that walks by says Happy Birthday. The attention is nice, I guess, although everyone tries to look all humble. I don’t really care about my birthday anymore. It’s no biggie to me, cake or not. It is nice to just celebrate and have other’s who think of you and pass a card around for everyone to sign, I guess.
But sometimes I wonder about others. Is there someone cooking for them later that evening? Or when we all get up and sing to them and they blow out the one candle we stick in whatever they brought for us to it, is that it for them? Do they sit beneath the rainbow of decor and relish those who stop to greet them, because maybe once they leave work there isn’t anyone else who cares enough about that? Sounds sad, I know.
So maybe I do care about birthdays. It’s the one holiday you can ignore like any other, but we can’t change the fact that we all get a year older.
Blah!
