The Paostian Deal

Last Friday, I celebrated my birthday for the 23rd time. In 23 years: that's 23 times the expense, 23+ days and nights of playing "friends"; 7 nights of tired tears; 3 midnights of anger; and 23+++ stars and candles wished on.

Hurrah for me.
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Last Friday was probably the loneliest birthday I've ever had. I felt so lonely that I want to rush time and have it make up for me next May 19th.

Maybe, my hopes were only too high. I wanted it to be a really happy birthday, but despite my plans going pretty well it still wasn't. That or the most abstract thing was right under my nose and I was too busy searching the skies for my falling star.

*Sigh*

Hmm...

*Deep sigh*

Oh well. The day had its moments anyway. I spent time with people I call friends, and that's happy. I Ate A Lot. Happy too. I was demigod and king and emperor for a couple of days. Happy, happy. How to spend money was my call. Happy... err... not so happy -- it was my money.

Maybe it's the label. Had the greeting not been, "Happy birthday!", then perhaps I would not have expected much. Whoever put that annoying adjective must have been a dumb colegiala who didn't even know the correct spelling of the word. How about we try going with just "... birthday!"? Take note of the one- to two-second buelo. It's friendlier. Heck, safer. It's up to the celebrator which adjective to attach -- it's his gaddamned day, anyway.

People, be nice. Think. And be nice.