I always get a little nostalgic around my birthday. I’ve never really suffered from PMS (thank God, I hear it’s a nightmare) and yet the days around my birthday I’m always a little sensitive, melancholic and easily cry. B-day PMS I call it. But this year the whole birthday experience has been different. No b-day PMS, no anticipation, no drive to celebrate, nothing really. Although birthday’s have always been special to me, this one seems to have lost it’s pizazz, and I noticed early too.
When people started to ask me, about a month ago, what I was doing for my birthday this year, I had no clue. I mean no clue, as in I hadn’t really thought about it and hadn’t even noticed it was coming up at all. When I did finally think about it I realized I didn’t want to do a repeat of any of my last birthday’s in NYC. I didn’t want to have a get-together in my apartment (too much work involved), I didn’t want to go out for dinner and drinks, I was not in the mood for karaoking, and I certainly didn’t want to go bar hopping and dancing (although I do enjoy doing all of that still).
Liz thought it would be a great idea to do something different, like go away for the weekend. I looked around at day trips, B&Bs close by, wineries, pumpkin patches, apple picking farms, and even haunted houses visits (I have all the details if any of you are interested). But nothing seemed to gel, so the day came by and nothing was planned. Friday afternoon, I decided I at least wanted cake, so I ordered a red velvet (my favorite these days) from Buttercup and sent out an email to some of my friends (very few, nothing fancy) and voila, 4pm Sunday there was cake at my place.