My birthday is tomorrow. Despite my youthful appearance, I will be 33 years old, so I need some Aveda All-Sensitive Moisturizer for my birthday. Just a suggestion. Or you could check out my Amazon.com wish list, conveniently located to the right. I am planning to spend the entire day at home, so I can receive deliveries.
Beating everyone to the punch was Zenchick, with a gorgeous magical fairy-themed e-card. (Like Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy, not the other kind.) However my first actual birthday gift came from this bad influence just this afternoon. He sent me some unbelievable gourmet chocolates that most certainly are NOT part of a good Weight Watchers plan, but it’s my birthday dammit. Yummmmm.
Significant event on this birthday: I had to get my New York driver’s license renewed. This is the first time I’ve ever had to do this. I also had to update my address and change my name back to my maiden name, which I have been mildly trepidatious about… feels like a rite of passage of sorts. I was pleased to see that New York City has a special office just for Driver’s license stuff - so you don’t have to wade through the madness of the regular DMV. Not only that, the “NYSDMV License X-Press” office is very well run, and I was cleanly processed, photographed, read the eye chart, paid the exorbitantly high renewal fee, and outta there in less than an hour.
However, I was disgusted to learn that even though I have a legal, notarized Separation Agreement from my attorney, I cannot resume my maiden name on my driver’s license until I receive the actual court-stamped divorce papers. Which won’t be for a good long number of months. I did update my address and register my address change with the voting commission, so I can perform my vital civic duty in a few months.
I loved being part of my Ex’s family, and wore the name with pride. However… it’s just not who I am, and I want to resume my own family identity. If When I get married again, I may not change my name this time. I really like being me, and retaining my name feels like an assertation of my history, my loved ones, my family, which is so vital to who I am. The first time I changed my name, I really didn’t put any thought into it. Everyone did it where I come from. It never occurred to me that it might not be the best thing for me to do. Now I’ve had years to think about it. It’s funny how we revert to the familiar sometimes.
So… I have to keep this name for a while longer. No matter. I’ll change it back when I can. My life is my own, and that’s what matters.
Last night I was out until 2AM celebrating someone else’s birthday. Actually, that birthday party was lame once the entertainment was over, so I ditched at about 9:30 and headed to my favorite Bleecker street dive, where I proceeded to drink several beers and sing along with a very grouchy cover artist who really is much better when he’s not so desperately in need of a vacation. At 2AM he finished his set, so on my way to the Christopher street 1/9 station I stopped for a couple of slices at this place. I swear of all the pizza I’ve eaten in my life, nothing beats Joe’s at 2AM after boozing it up.
Then it took me twice as long to get home than it should have, since the subways are fucked up. Not only that, the orange-vested MTA employees were telling everyone at Christopher street that they could take the B to 59th and pick up the 1/9 there - which was FALSE. The 1/9 is OUT altogether!! So me and a bunch of other grumpy half-sober people had to get BACK on the train at 59th, head to 42nd, transfer to the 2/3, and ride to 96th, where some of us went home and others grabbed the necessary 1/9 to beddy-bye.
Now, I was alone. Picture this, a long-haired hippie white gal in an ankle-length batik dress and chandelier earrings, wandering the streets of the village at these hours, slightly sloshed, on a relatively deserted Tuesday night. When I first moved here, I never would have dared. Now I thought nothing of it. Have I lost my look of Midwestern naiveté?
Now that’s a birthday present. Maybe, at 33, I finally look like a grown-up who can take care of herself, rather than a good target for assault. Or maybe I’ve just become that confident. Or maybe I was tipsy and exhibiting very poor judgment.
I sure felt safe though.
Today I am getting practical things done. Tomorrow, the actual DAY of my birthday… I have no real plans. My jazzman friend is going to take me out for dinner… but how boring is that? I want to party! It’s been so long since I went anyplace with a lively atmosphere that wasn’t a gay bar… man, about 2 years I think. Not that there’s anything wrong with gay bars, but any suggestions?
And yes, I did think of asking the boys to liquor me up, but I’ve gone out drinking 2 nights already this week, and my liver will not take that much additional punishment. I have to be healthy enough to enjoy this on Saturday and this on Sunday. The bf has been out of state on business all week, but he’s flying home Friday, and taking me on a multi-leg weekend-o-birthday-fun. The darling. Actually I should also mention that he bought me a present as well. A practical one… but hey. I really need it. At some point I’m going to have to, like, start job-hunting.
This is the most un-emotional birthday I’ve had in years. Maybe I’m numb to them now. That’s kind of sad, but it’s also a relief. It’s better than being depressed as hell that nobody remembers it or being bitter as hell that all my other Virgo friends here in NYC get actual parties and I don't. I mean, most of my closest friends are, let's face it, in other states. They're off the hook. But I have a nice assortment of New York girlfriends who love to throw parties for themselves and each other, but my birthday is always overlooked - for years in a row now. Bitches. Would you believe one of those girlfriends actually called last Monday to invite me to some anonymous party at some midtown bar Friday night? IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, BITCH.
Oh well, fuck them all. I have chocolates to eat. Lots of them. And they're all mine...