Go..Go..Go..Go...Go Shawty!

Yeah, it's this blogger's birfday!

When my dad died a year and half ago, the funeral director told us that a lot of people die in the month that they were born. He was five days shy of his 62nd born day. It seems natural to be preoccupied with thoughts of how you’ll exit the world on the day that you came into it….

But that was probably the last thing on my mind the year my sister threw me a surprise birthday sleepover at her crib with L–Dubb, Gay Bartender and Curly. (PS – That was a hella big deal cuz Jamaican parents don’t play that sleep ah sum’ahdy else yahd nonsense)

Or the year when Cathy Shutz, this mousy white chick in my 3rd grade class approached me all shook and apologetic because she had forgot my gift at home. I looked at her like, ‘damn, am I THAT popular and powerful?’ She came in the next day with a chocolate bunny and another flurry of apologies.

Or sophomore year in college when Gay Bartender threw me a surprise dinner with none of my new friends cuz she didn’t know them…or my 21st, when I threw up two bottles of Mad Dogg, an undisclosed amount of $1 lemon drops and buttery nipples (the drink, ngga!), 151 (NEVER again), tequila and Heineken in some random dude’s toilet.

Or my quarter-life bday when my crew slipped into VIP at Hard Rock Café (one of AJ from 106& Park's HOT joints) without dropping the $100 damage by frontin' like we were down with the birthday party of a diminutive Queens rapper whose wife has the same name as me.

Or the birthday where Funk Master Flex called out my plus sized home girl who was wilding out in the club: “You need to get off that speaker… YOU ARE TOP HEAVY!”

Or the romantic dinner and quality time b-day with NC a few years back.

Or the year I bit off Heidi Springer and made her legendary cupcakes in ice cream cones and brought them to school for the whole class (5th grade).

Or the year my dad forgot my bday…it was around the time my grandma got real sick. I had all but already spent that born day cash, too!

But I’ll remember this 2006 late-20something birthday as the one where I got carded…buying a lotto ticket. (Damn, bitch…I don’t look 18??!)

How come birthdays are like Valentine’s Day…full of unsolicited expectations? How come if you just wanna relax and be low key on your special day (read: saving every little dime for my upcoming foray to Vegas), people lift an eyebrow? How come not having a significant other sucks a little bit more today? How come people gauge the value of a birthday by what people give you?

And how come I’m guilty of gauging how much people love me by the time of day they call me?

...Gay Bartender (my girl since 4th grade) just after midnight, as always.
...Mack just before midnight, then at noon today as expected
...Phatz during his lunch break (with a story about some ngga, as usual)
...My sister this morning, singing a full two stanzas of happy birthday
...My brother this morning, saying it by not saying it
...Other two bros stopped by before work
...Sister in law for a hot second at lunch, asking if she could skip the singing
...My nephews as soon as they got home from school
...And my mom at 2p…which is pretty good since usually I have to call her. :)
...The Ex-Con…MIA as expected. :(

...Anyone who hasn't called by now is suspect.

Today I pour out a lil liquor for the old days when birthdays were about bringing enough for the whole class.

For the days when birthday cards ALWAYS had money in it…usually a dollar for each of your years.

For the days when I would have been flattered to have dudes I don’t like wanna show me a good time. (raincheck, fellas)

For the day I don’t watch the clock waiting on a call I long for but know not to expect.

Naw, for now I’ll just pour out a lil liquor for him, too.

And some for my Daddy.

“You can find me in da club!”