Ok, it’s my birthday, I’m 27, and I have no plans for tonight. Anyone want to take me out drinking? Or at least commiserate(did I spell that right?) with me over this incredibly boring birthday I’m going to have?
AND being the complete dingbat that I am this morning, I though I was over in MPSIMS, not here. oops…guess it is time to head to work.
18th Birthday was spent at Parris Island. Marine Corps Boot Camp. Beat that.
Happy birthday, Lsura! 
Every birthday of mine since the 21st has been boring.
I had my 27th last month. After stumbling through what was only my second day at a new job, I went to bed with a migraine and remained there until 11:00 PM.
So, yep, I commiserate. I still have an unopened half-bottle of Frexienet (“there’s a party in every bottle”) cava that I was supposed to have that night. And if you can make it to Oxford, England by tonight, you can share it with me
All through college my birthday always landed right in the middle of finals week. I was bummed that I couldn’t really celebrate, but once I graduated I didn’t want to anymore.
Weird.
My birthday was on Labor Day this past Monday and we did absolutely nothing. What a boring time. I just hung around the house… and I didn’t even get to sleep in. My wife made me get up to deal with the kids at 7:00AM. I’m going to try to celebrate it tonight after work, but I don’t think it’s going to be that big of a deal.
My Birthday was last Sunday. I spent it tending bar at a friends medieval-reinactor-style wedding and reception in a mosquito-infested area in upstate NY. Not one of my friends in attendance(there were about 50-60)remembered.
Wasn’t supposed to be working-but I did.
Wasn’t supposed to have to drive 3 1/2 hrs home-but I did.
Didn’t plan on getting 100+ mosquito bites on my body-but I did.
Came home, worked Monday night, and stayed after closing the bar and got drunk with the bartender and a lady friend.
My exciting birthday (last month)
Got up. Fed the cats. Went to work.
Highlight of the day: Accounting department took me to lunch.
Went home. Fed the cats. Went to bed.
I’ve never had anything but boring birthdays. Nice enough, I guess, in an extremely low-key, uninspiring, empty way. But nothing at all what you’d call exciting.
My birthday is next week and it will be the most boring ever. My husband is on a ship in the middle of the North Sea for the next month and I live 3500+ miles from my closest relatives. Classes don’t start until the following week, so I’d be surprised if I manage to step outside the front door. I won’t even have any presents to open because I’m so practical and “ungirly” that I have refused all offers of perfume, chocolates, flowers, and jewelry, and no one knows what else to give me. My husband did leave a card here for me to open but the poor dear managed to leave the shop without getting an envelope for it, so it’s wrapped up in a shopping bag. And I dare not bake a cake for myself because I’d only sit here and eat the whole thing and feel guilty about it. SIGH… Until this year, I’d always had a wonderful youthful enthusiasm for my birthday. Well, at least I don’t feel anywhere near “old” yet!
I’m going to be on a cruise to Denmark for mine this year - oh, wait, no, sorry that didn’t help…
OK, I hated my tenth birthday, no different to the others just felt boring & depressing. My 21st was grotty too even though spent with friends who took me out for a curry (& I managed to eat all of it, including the side dishes, which is unusual for me!), but again just felt weird.
Not a single friend/relative/co-worker/stranger remembered my birthday a few years back. No party, no plans, no cards, nothin’.
The sad part? I didn’t realize they’d missed it until roughly a month afterwards.
My birthday falls on or near Thanksgiving quite often. This is annoying as all hell, because the ONE family tradition we have is treking to The Homeland, aka: the New York City Metro area, and visit my godparents in Manhattan and have a HUGE Thanksgiving dinner with my father’s family. He has four siblings, and they are each married with little Riddles of their own, so it’s a whole brewhaha. And ever since I was 18, I had to choose whether to spend my birthday with my friends or family. When I turned 18, it fell on Thanksgiving, and I decided to spend it with my best friend watching chick flicks and eating tofu burgers (I had gone veggie the year before, another reason the meatfest didn’t appeal.) She got in a HUGE fight with her mother, and was bared from using the car, or leaving the house. I was alone on my 18th birthday. I ended up calling another friend, telling her the whole story, and bursting into tears. THAT friend (Claire) had to spend T-Day with her father’s family whom I had never met, but her mother, apparently grasping what was going on from Claire’s end of the conversation, grabbed the phone and said “Brooke, Claire and her brother are spending the dinner with thier father. Floyd (Claire’s stepfather) and I need a surrogate kid. Come to dinner with us.” I did, and afterwards spent the night at Claire’s, where they made me a Birthday Crown and we watched Strickly Ballroom. It ended up quite nicely.
The next year, my birthday fell the day AFTER t-day. I opted to go to Long Island, even if it meant spending my birthday in the car. I walked downstairs in my aunt’s house the morning I turned 19, and they all greeted me with “Good Morning.” I froze, and had a Molly Ringwold-16 Candles moment. LONG pause
“Don’t you people have anything else to say to me?” I demanded.
“Oh, Happy Birthday, B!” said my dad.
“Jim, that’s not till tomorrow.” said my mom.
“Ma, it’s today.” I said.
“I THOUGHT so,” said my very Long Islandy Aunt Patty, slapping the table emphatically, jumping up and grabbing a card from the top of the refrigerator. “I THOUGHT it was today, but I didn’t want to make your parents look silly.”
“Yea, they can handle that themselves.”
The ride home was long, and painful. I felt horrible, like I’d been cheated out of the ONE day when I am supposed to be happy. It ended with me in tears, and my dad confusedly comforting me with “Don’t worry, hon. We’ll have presents tomorrow.” Didn’t help. I didn’t want presents, I wanted a godammed birthday! I drove to my apartment, stopping to buy myself a $40 shirt (still the most frivolous piece of clothing I own) and felt like shit. The next morning, there was a knock at my door. My father had bought me a used TV (I didn’t own one) the week before, and got up first thing and drove the hour to my apartment. I felt guilty over how guilty he felt.
Last year wasn’t too bad, I don’t remember it at all, but I imagine that means it wasn’t traumatic.
This year I turn 21. I have totally given up on fun birthdays. At this point I hope I don’t end up in tears. Of course, the promise of legally obtained alcohol might help…
This year, I got up and there was a card hanging from my door frame. Turns out there were six B-Day cards throughout the house. Later my dad gave me a cheap Bowie knife.
That’s it.
Whee.
–Tim