My birthday is coming. I like my birthday. A lot. Even as I edge closer to being ‘of a certain age’, I refuse to surrender the sanctity of my own personal holiday to the adult relics of ‘just another day’. Nope, I have birthday parties. With cupcakes. And friends. I celebrate a ‘Birthday Week’ in fact. I’d take the month if I could get away with it. I usually manage to accomplish somewhere around 10 days of birthday bliss. The places I want go, the foods I want to eat, the movies I want to see, and yes, even the things I want to buy, all a little easier to negotiate with The Husband and myself during my birthday vacation. I didn’t mention that? I take the week of my birthday off. Every year.
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Why? Because the most important gifts are the ones I give myself. Don’t get me wrong. I like friends and family. Most of my friends are my family. I invite them over. I want them to stay for hours. To eat food, perhaps drink a little too much. To talk smack and harass the dogs. That’s a gift in and of itself. A gift I give myself by inviting them. A gift they give me by showing up.
For someone who likes stuff quite as much as I do, you’d think there would be this expectation of gifts. People ask me what I’d like for my birthday. It seems in genuine to say ‘Oh, nothing much’. Especially when they read my blog lusts over vikings, fiestaware and owls, always owls. But, I’ll buy my own owls thanks. Like those two little guys pictured above. If unapproved owls start congregating willy-nilly, it’ll be less fun. Then I quickly become The Crazy Owl Lady. I’m already The Crazy Dog Lady and sometimes The Crazy Money Lady. Just like the owls, no additional titles necessary.
I don’t discourage random acts of gifting; recently receiving a lovely linen tea towel to commemorate the chicken Suzie should have been, a thrifted owl napkin holder because we never find thrifted owl anything, and my guilty Entertainment Weekly habit is taken care of every year, so I can continue to be mocked for not having cable yet caring about the fate of various on-going series. These are inspired gifts. They’d be appreciated on any of the 365 days in the year. It need not be saved up for my birthday. Don’t worry, I’ll buy myself plenty on that occasion.
I like consumerism. I want to be in charge of it. There’s a targeted savings account with funds smoldering away for just this event. Blessedly, the mother of all urban craft fairs takes place during my birthday week. Coincidence? I think not. This is more than a little hoopla. It is. I agree. The indulgence of an adult woman with no children to project birthday festivities upon. Compensation for a childhood of no birthday parties, and only minimal birthday hoopla. True, true. But, it always makes for a damn fine week of all my favorite things; food, friends, entertainment, leisure time, and new, good stuff. A week of being master of my own domain.
Clarification: If you are my BFF or The Husband this no-owl no-gift policy does not apply to you. Lest we have any confusion on that front.
Do you give yourself anything for your Birthday? Or are you a big fan of birthday gifts?
Congruent with my time off from Corporate Servitude, I’ll be mostly absent here too. I’ll post the giveaway winner on Sunday. (Still open till tomorrow night, sign up now!) I’ll be on facebook. I’ll be using the bulk of my time for some bigger blog projects. I’ll be busy. Look for big things when I get back. Big. Huge. I’m drumming up anticipation here. Can you tell?
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