Tales of Birthday Woe

So I wake up this morning to find that my car has been stolen. On my birthday. It was stolen out my parking spot in the back of my townhouse complex (and yes, it was locked). This isn’t just any car, mind you. It’s a 1991 Nissan 300ZX, one of the most beautiful cars ever made, and it only had 87,000 miles on it.

It was the first car I ever bought and I wrote a check out for it out of my own checkbook. I spent so much time looking through the papers, finding a good deal and a good dealer. I was so proud when I bought it because I felt like I was finally an adult making adult decisions. It was a good, steady, reliable car for me for years.

The Z drives like a dream and I loved every single second I spent with that car. I was never a car person until I drove the Z and came to understand what a pleasure driving could really be. It turned heads, it was so beautiful and elegant. And now some slimy thief is driving it around with his dirty hands all over the steering wheel. It’s probably going to Mexico. I’ll never see that gorgeous car again and all the while it’ll be driven by some jerkoff who’s willing to buy a stolen car.

Also I just put $1500 worth of maintenance in it two weeks ago.

This is officially the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Anyone want to cheer me up with other tales of horrible birthdays?

I don’t have any horrible birthday stories, but I’m really, really sorry about your car.

No, fuffle, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’m having a sucky birthday today, too. I turn 35 today and I’m doing nothing fun because we’re broke as hell for another couple of months.
I’m so sorry about your car, darlin’. I will try to will it back to you with all this birthday luck I’m not using.
Otherwise, just know that there’s another birthday girl out there celebrating with you in spirit. Maybe you’ll get something neat out of this terrible experience.


I take it the police weren’t too optimistic about seeing it again? I knew a guy who had his car stolen from our work parking garage and it was found within two days. A bunch of his crap was missing from the trunk, but the car was fine.

I don’t have any tales of horrible birthdays (unless you count my 12th birthday since it was the first day of school), but I might get back to you in 24 hours to let you know how this one goes.

Lets see, not nearly in the same league as yours, but…

We buried my great grandmother on my 12th birthday. On my 13th my mom had school that night, my dad was bringing my brother to football registration and then going to a lodge meeting, and they had put some chicken parts in the oven to cook. No sauce and they were dried out. At that time I hated chicken more than anything…I was at home alone on my 13th birthday with the one food I truly hated for supper. I went to McDonalds by myself for the first time that day. Fourteen, thru nineteen…birthdays either forgotten, or celebrated early, because my birthday week is when everyone registers for everything.

The list goes on. None as bad as having your car stolen. Thats a very nice car. It was the first really cool car I got a ride from a boyfriend in. (It was his dad’s not his, 1988 300 ZX and had every single luxury… I think even a CD layer, and that was in 1989)

My aunt shares a birthday with her oldest son; they’ve celebrated it together every year until this past week–because he died last fall after dealing with a brain tumor and its complications for his whole life. From now on her birthdays will be keen reminders of her missing son–I can’t imagine wanting to celebrate them again.
But she still has her car. :frowning:

I know I’ve posted this before, but here it is again…

For my 26th birthday, my then-husband threw me a surprise party.

Then, in the midst of my birthday party, he told me he wanted a divorce.

That was one unpleasant birthday. The guests didn’t enjoy the party much after that, either. It was a bit awkward.

Not in the same league with yours but…for my birthday last week my husband bought me a beautiful, expensive scarf. Then he took me out to dinner. I wore the scarf.

A dumb mistake.

Taking my very last bite of Szechuan chicken, I dropped a bit of the sauce onto the scarf.

I am a slob and a klutz and don’t even deserve $300 silk anything, and should definitely know better than to eat while wearing it.

Spent four hours doing various things to the stain with cornstarch and brown paper and the iron and the scarf is almost as good as new, which is better than I deserve, yet I’m still disappointed because something that new should be good as new for…longer.

If it’s any consolation, of the three cars TikkiDad has had stolen, he’s gotten them all back. The cops even caught the thief of the last one red-handed when the guy decided to take it for a spin downtown two days after the theft. Since he had a long arrest record, the detective in charge of the case was hoping to put him away for a good long time. Though the papers in the glovebox and the camera TikkiDad had stashed under the seat were gone, actual damage to the car itself was minimal. May you have the same or even better luck with your car.

As an aside, yesterday was my birthday too. Nothing bad happened, unless you want to count President Bush coming to town. But since we managed not to get caught in any of the resultant traffic jams, I’m not complaining.

Oh, when I was 19, we had our mom’s funeral on TikkiDad’s birthday. He’s a stoic guy but that had to be tough on him.

My dog died on my 7th birthday.

On my 30th birthday, I found my first grey hair.
On my 35th, I had my first (and only, so far) experience with impotence.

Still, sorry 'bout the car, and I hope the rest of your birthday has many good things happen, and later in life you can say “you know, one birthday I had my car stolen, but other than that…it was pretty good.”

My kids’ very first pet–a betta fish–died moments before were were scheduled to go out for my birthday dinner. At a fish restaurant.

(Yes, we went anyway.)

Thanks to everyone for the kind words. I feel a bit better now after a day to think on it. And wow, some of these birthdays here were way worse than mine. Plus I know in my heart that certainly mine could have been a lot worse. (I could have been in the car when it was stolen, for example)

My problem is that I’m very superstitious about birthdays, figuring that whatever happens on your birthday is a snapshot (omen?) of what’s to come in the next year. Happy birthday = happy year. Crappy birthday = crappy year. It’s been pretty true for me thus far, so I’m really dreading the coming year. Maybe I need some sort of birthday magic cleansing voodoo ritual ceremony…

On my 9th birthday (in APRIL, in West Virginia) my first ever slumber party got snowed out.

On my 10th birthday, I put my arm through a glass screen door and got what is still the largest scar on my body.

On my 12th birthday, I got my very first period.

Two years in a row my Madison birthday party sucked because of snow. I rented a motel both times. The first time two people show up. We had a 30 person table saved. One person showed up the second year. The pool room had a shattered glass wall with snow blowing in. I wake up and the interstate is closed until afternoon, and I Had to spend half a day in a retail store, next to the motel. The mall and most stores didn’t open that day.

Last night a cold hit me at about 9:00 PM. I can’t go longer than 30 seconds without something running down my face.

On my 35th birthday my Grandma died.