'What's My Age Again?'

'Confusion is a word we have invented for an order which is not yet understood.' -Henry Miller

It amazes me how time passes. One second it’s the morning, you blink, then it’s dusk, you sleep and it’s day again. I know ‘time flies’ is very cliché, but it’s so damn true. Yesterday, I turned 23. Just 365 (yester)days ago, I turned 22-and I recall that ‘yesterday’ like it happened today. For some reason, I always come across a cloud of sadness when my birthday arrives. My twenty-second birthday was the loneliest birthday ever. A gloomy haze fogged my spirit. I felt like I couldn’t see where I was going, nor did I know where I wanted to go. As a result, I declined going out for drinks and rejected numerous dinner proposals. Feeling detached, my mental state, and irritable attitude would not have made me very pleasant company. It was like I put myself in solitary confinement but I couldn’t understand why. You may be thinking 'is she mentally ill?' I’m not…or at least I don’t think I am. Simply put, I wasn’t in the mood to ‘celebrate.’ Another year knocked off of my time on Earth, and I still couldn't pinpoint my purpose.

'Yay, 22 and I don’t know what the fuck I want out of life-Cheers!’ No thanks.

Perplexity was something I refused to 'toast' to.

So I drove aimlessly around Manhattan. There was a crisp wind and the sky was dim. I ended up wandering uptown and driving around the upper-east side. It started to rain and the sky faded into a gloomy darkness. The weather was a direct reflection of the way I felt-lonely, cold, and obscure. It was like that very wind was blowing right through the middle of my body. I felt like I needed SOMETHING to look for-something to fill that void I felt. SOMETHING to cover that gaping hole. To top it off, I was still not completely 'over' my ex at the time. The fact that he had not called me on my birthday was like a dagger in my stomach.
So, as a fix for my damaged spirit, I did what any diva-in-distress would do:

Go Shopping.

The shoe department at Marshalls on 125th Street on a Saturday evening was an eyesore. My brown Ralph Lauren loafers were run into the ground, so I thought a replacement pair would make me feel better. Typically I treat myself to something ‘new’ when the birthday rolls around. It’s not necessarily something big or flashy, but just something. When I came up empty-handed, I realized it wouldn’t. But I continued to search the women's shoes wasteland-lost and disoriented. My estranged lover finally reached out during my search for something to fill the gaping hole in my heart. Realizing that I would probably feel hollow and sad for the remainder of my birthday, I drove down Central Park West, parked my car, and sat there: crying.

Now let me fast-forward to THIS birthday.

All in all, it was better. Mentally, I’m in a better place this year. No more lingering emotions or heart strings tied up to be played like a guitar. With a new job and a new outlook on guys, I celebrated with a small housewarming party at my new apartment. Because my actual B-day fell on a Monday, the celebration took place on Saturday. The theme was ‘23 Shades of Pink.’ This was inspired by the idea of bringing in the ‘new’ (birth-year, dwelling, lifestyle) with the most important thing we have:

Love.

The décor was exactly the way I envisioned it. Pink-lighting, draping fabric, and carefully placed tea-lights gave it a sensual vibe: think Aphrodite in a Moroccan village. Yet, the chocolate cupcakes, shortbread cookies and pink-cocktail punch created the sweet and innocent balance. Cool people, candles and iTunes filled my space. My friends, my baby-sister, fraternity brothers and sorors all came to show me love. I got dolled-up in a black spandex-tank-mini-dress, fuschia Indian bracelets, baby-pink fishnets, and bright pink lipstick while I played hostess for the first time, in a long time. My hair was fabulous-I got some gift cards (greatly appreciated), had the most delicious red-velvet ice-cream cake, courtesy of ColdStone. People who came through also brought bottles so I ended up with a lot of extra liquor in my crib. The party was not the ‘event of the century’ however, it was enjoyable and relaxing. Definitely better than sitting in the rain, alone, crying and not knowing why.

And just when I thought that black rain-cloud that came on November 17th was left in the past...

It made a comeback.

I don’t know if it was the return of the ‘birthday blues’-the same gloom I experienced on my previous birthday or maybe it was just PMS. Whatever the diagnosis, I felt like shit. I took off of work, stayed home and got my house back in order with the help of my little sister, whom I affectionately refer to as ‘Onion.’ (To be pronounced with a French-accent) My annoyance began at midnight when my phone began blowing up with ‘Happy Birthday’ text-messages. I know this is 2008 and people type and send just about everything the mouth can say. Hell, I do it too-it’s convenient and talking on the phone for hours isn’t as fun as it used to be when I was 15. HOWEVER, ‘Happy Birthday’ is just not something people should express in a text-message. At least NOT TO ME.

I woke up disgruntled to several ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” text messages. The multiple !!!!!!!!!’s made me feel like I was being yelled at. I mean, is it that difficult to call someone on their birthday? I can READ-I know it’s my birthday, but what makes you think I want to read it? Certain things you just don’t say via text-message. It’s just bad protocol-for example, breaking up with your gf or bf … trying to explain why you stood someone up…wishing me a ‘Happy Birthday.’ It’s so lame. I just think that such a personal and supposedly ‘special day’ deserves a phone-call. Even my three-year old niece can just type a message. Maybe I’m crazy, but I found myself getting angry with every ‘Happy Birthday’ I read. Some people didn’t even get a response.

Am I wrong for feeling 'a way' about getting corny text-'happy birthdays?'

I don't know. Perhaps it's anxiety that naturally comes with age. Maybe it's just me busting my brains to figure out if I'm where I should be in life. Maybe it's my internal fears and issues with separation. Or maybe it's the fact that everyone hypes up birthdays and I just don't understand why. Maybe I'll never understand why. But, whatever it is-it always turns out fine and I can only be grateful to see another year.

Thank you Mom for birthing me. Thank you God, for making me. And thank you all who called me and said something to bring some sunshine to the black, birthday-rain-cloud.

And a special thank-you to Shambo. She saved my birthday. Slate+ Home+White Zinfindel+ a good ass DJ= Good times..

Cheers!