That was the worst birthday I've had all year
Since it's more than two weeks past now, I figure I should update everyone on the pain and suffering that was my birthday.
My roommate didn't know when my birthday was, and I offered to take him to dinner that night - my treat. He's still basically the only person I know in New York. I thought he might figure it out, though, because I was expecting my phone to keep ringing during dinner. I figured my best friend would call, I thought another friend that always remembers my birthday would call, I expected my parents to call, and I even thought she might call (though she can never remember when I was born).
But my roommate was busy and couldn't have dinner that night. And my best friend didn't call. And my other friend didn't call. And she didn't call. And my parents didn't even call until 9:45pm - I almost thought they forgot. It sucked bad.
So now - two and a half weeks later - I still haven't heard "Happy Birthday" from anyone but my parents. I never like it when people remember my birthday... until everyone I know forgets it. I finally talked to my two best friends, and neither of them have shown any indication of remembering. They know I'm not sensitive about age, so I know they're not avoiding the issue out of respect. They just plain forgot, and it hasn't occurred to them in the eighteen days since. I think I need better friends.
I also have yet to receive a single birthday present. I thought maybe I'd get something while I was back in Michigan over Christmas. Nope. Nothing. When I talked to my parents on my birthday they said my only gift would be money, and they would deposit the money into my savings account sometime soon. Yeah, thanks, that still hasn't happened. The only sorta-gift that I've received was one that I gave to myself: I took myself to the movies. But just to add another nail in the coffin of my celebration, it was the worst movie I've seen in years. Turns out I gave myself the worst gift ever. It figures.
(By the by, my roommate still hasn't had a free night to go out to dinner. But he now knows it was my birthday, and now he insists on paying. I won't allow that, so I guess I'll just skip it entirely.)
This is all a follow-up to a lame Christmas trip to Michigan. I took the bus for the second round-trip in a month. Never again. Every year my parents or my cousin (the two people who take turns hosting Christmas Eve and Day) ask what I want for Christmas dinner, and every year I say "pizza," and they laugh and laugh and laugh and then cook dry turkey or dry roast beef. So this year my mom asks what I want for Christmas dinner, and I say "pizza." We got ham - not bad, but still not pizza.
I arrived late on Christmas Eve day, and everyone knew I wasn't going to make it to the nursing home in time to see my aunt with the rest of the family. They had a little Christmas Eve meal at the nursing home with my aunt, without me. That's fine, except for one thing: they had pizza. I'm imagining that they laughed and laughed and laughed...
The only good day I've had since returning to New York was the exact day that I returned: New Year's Eve day. Her Christmas card was waiting for me - a bit late, but at least I got something. That was the first (and still the last) mail that I've received since moving here. I also ran the Midnight Run in Central Park that night with nearly 10,000 of my closest friends. It was a nice and toasty 40-something degrees, and I ran a good race for someone who hadn't practiced in three months. I started out slowly because of the crowds, and also because I didn't know what I could handle that night. I picked up speed when I slowly realized that I wasn't tiring out, and I ran every mile faster than the one previous. Excluding seconds, I ran the four miles in 10 minutes, 9, 8, 7. Strange.
Stay tuned for the next entry: I fight crime!
My roommate didn't know when my birthday was, and I offered to take him to dinner that night - my treat. He's still basically the only person I know in New York. I thought he might figure it out, though, because I was expecting my phone to keep ringing during dinner. I figured my best friend would call, I thought another friend that always remembers my birthday would call, I expected my parents to call, and I even thought she might call (though she can never remember when I was born).
But my roommate was busy and couldn't have dinner that night. And my best friend didn't call. And my other friend didn't call. And she didn't call. And my parents didn't even call until 9:45pm - I almost thought they forgot. It sucked bad.
So now - two and a half weeks later - I still haven't heard "Happy Birthday" from anyone but my parents. I never like it when people remember my birthday... until everyone I know forgets it. I finally talked to my two best friends, and neither of them have shown any indication of remembering. They know I'm not sensitive about age, so I know they're not avoiding the issue out of respect. They just plain forgot, and it hasn't occurred to them in the eighteen days since. I think I need better friends.
I also have yet to receive a single birthday present. I thought maybe I'd get something while I was back in Michigan over Christmas. Nope. Nothing. When I talked to my parents on my birthday they said my only gift would be money, and they would deposit the money into my savings account sometime soon. Yeah, thanks, that still hasn't happened. The only sorta-gift that I've received was one that I gave to myself: I took myself to the movies. But just to add another nail in the coffin of my celebration, it was the worst movie I've seen in years. Turns out I gave myself the worst gift ever. It figures.
(By the by, my roommate still hasn't had a free night to go out to dinner. But he now knows it was my birthday, and now he insists on paying. I won't allow that, so I guess I'll just skip it entirely.)
This is all a follow-up to a lame Christmas trip to Michigan. I took the bus for the second round-trip in a month. Never again. Every year my parents or my cousin (the two people who take turns hosting Christmas Eve and Day) ask what I want for Christmas dinner, and every year I say "pizza," and they laugh and laugh and laugh and then cook dry turkey or dry roast beef. So this year my mom asks what I want for Christmas dinner, and I say "pizza." We got ham - not bad, but still not pizza.
I arrived late on Christmas Eve day, and everyone knew I wasn't going to make it to the nursing home in time to see my aunt with the rest of the family. They had a little Christmas Eve meal at the nursing home with my aunt, without me. That's fine, except for one thing: they had pizza. I'm imagining that they laughed and laughed and laughed...
The only good day I've had since returning to New York was the exact day that I returned: New Year's Eve day. Her Christmas card was waiting for me - a bit late, but at least I got something. That was the first (and still the last) mail that I've received since moving here. I also ran the Midnight Run in Central Park that night with nearly 10,000 of my closest friends. It was a nice and toasty 40-something degrees, and I ran a good race for someone who hadn't practiced in three months. I started out slowly because of the crowds, and also because I didn't know what I could handle that night. I picked up speed when I slowly realized that I wasn't tiring out, and I ran every mile faster than the one previous. Excluding seconds, I ran the four miles in 10 minutes, 9, 8, 7. Strange.
Stay tuned for the next entry: I fight crime!