Today is my birthday and unlike SOME of my friends (mainly THIS one), I'm loving every minute of it. As most of you know, I've been celebrating all month... because you only live once, bitches! Sure, I'm one more year closer to death, my hair is graying, my skin is aging and my bank account is dwindling... but I'M ALIVE and I have access to fruity, alcoholic beverages, beef jerky and air conditioning. What more could a girl ask for?!
Honestly, it's the only time I can make my peeps feel guilty enough to do shit for me: "Hand me the remote, it's my birthday month!".... "Get me a glass of water, it's my birthday week!".... "Rub my feet, it's my birthday eve, eve!"... "Scratch my back, it's my birthday eve!" "Throw some coconut ice cubes in my rum, it's my birthday!"
That shit works like a charm for me all month. The rest of the year, they spend most of the time avoiding me, so I have to milk it for all it's worth.
As I type, my girls are cleaning my kitchen and baking their momma a cake. Hubber is tidying up the living room and ordering the children around (which is equivalent to porn in my book). I'm sipping on a beverage at my desk, listening to the Beastie Boys and rubbing my feet on my dog's back. It's like God is actually smiling down on me and saying, "sure you're a bitch, but I still like you."
While I celebrate the anniversary of the day I was born, I can't help but thank my lucky stars that I survived another year without killing myself or someone else (and that shit ain't easy to do when you're me). I'm happy, I'm healthy and I have the best group of family and friends anyone could ever hope for. I'm beginning to think they love me, snark and all.
Ok, time for cake...