Today is my birthday, and unless you were born today too, my birthday lasts longer than yours. Nyah nyah nyah na na.
Anyway, enough about you - today is all about me.
I know, I know - no one really gives a shit about birthdays unless it's their own, or you're under the age of 11 and are cute. But there are a few things I refuse to let go of - one of them is my birthday.
I suppose the reason I take this birthday thing so seriously stems from my mom. Good old Emily Jane wasn't the best mom in the world, but she did try to take our birthdays seriously. Every summer mom would slather me and Curtis with coconut oil and make us play outside - by mid August me and Curt looked like a couple of pieces of crispy chicken. Mom would then make us stand in the sandlot down the street and stick out our belly's. She'd take a few pictures and then she'd shoo us on our way.
How does this relate to my birthday? Well, it turns out my mom was scamming some adopt a child thing. She managed to register us as a couple of orphans from Bangladesh, and somehow she convinced the people in charge that we were kids that George Harrison had taken a shine to. Anyways money would come in, and how she did it I still can't figure out, but on our birthdays mom would give us a care package that came all the way from India that was the envy of the other kids - this went on until I was about 15 - then mom got busted for trying to sell Mrs. McCleary's house and that was that.
Anyway, last night before I went to bed I left little sticky notes on the fridge and stuff to remind people that it was my birthday. I also updated my facebook profile to invite people to send me birthday greetings, and I set up a little paypal widget so my friends could send me money.
So far, the paypal thing has been a bust, although I did get a note from my little brother Curtis saying happy birthday, and that he'd be coming to town in a few weeks and that he had an idea for a belated birthday present.
All he would say was that it was blue and yellow.
