Thirty! It feels like a major birthday. There’s all kinds of tacky nonsense for 30th birthdays. It ends in a zero. I feel the need to do something for it, but I’m so used to ignoring my stupid birthday that I don’t even know what to do.
I know I get one-upped by Christmas and other holiday babies, but I’m so used to having a dumb summer birthday that meh. Meh, I tell you. Meh. I finally got to have it sort of during the year in junior high and high school because Washington’s schools let out in mid-June, but often it just ended up during finals. That also sucked.
For most of my life, I got really used to parties where only a few people would show up, tops. That’s a buttload of leftover cake.
Even now, summer is when everyone goes on vacation. “Oh, you’re getting older. That’s cool. We’re en route to Le Mans, without you. Gonna spend a week driving aimlessly in Europe because we can. Mind if I just twist this knife a little harder?”
So, I don’t know what to do for my stupid birthday. Like most birthdays before it, it will probably go largely ignored except on Facebook, where people send in messages on the day of because Facebook told them to.
I just don’t know what actual so-called adults do for their birthdays. Cake seems overkill. I really don’t want all the cheesy “over the hill” baubles. Yo, my parents were born in the 1940s. That’s over the hill. Thirty isn’t over jack.
It’s not my 21st, so a Sixth-Street-style debauchery-fest holds zero appeal.
I’ve done karts before, which was okay, but it was hard to fill up a group to make it really worth it.
Part of me just wants to forget it and go drive the Porschelump.
I’m even kind of meh on presents unless it’s a) fixing my Porsche b) getting more track time for the Porsche or c) just getting me out of here. My turn to be away, dang it.
What do people even do for birthdays? Seriously, I’m at a loss.