Happy Birthday!

Okay, so, that rant about Royal Mail was very therapeutic. I feel calm and relaxed enough to write a birthday post and post date it because I have this thing about posting twice in one day.

So, birthdays. I was born on December 13th, 23 years ago. I have a thing about even numbers, and since both my birth day and year are odd, I can't say that I've ever really liked my birthday.Though I am strangely attached to it, so it's not like I would ever seriously consider changing it [not that you can]. Thirteen has always brought me good luck. While the rest of the world cringes during Friday the 13th, I always have a really fabulous day. I know 7 is supposed to be this magical number, but I honestly would have preferred an 88 birth year. Eight is one of my favourite numbers, along with 2, 4, 16, 32, I think you can see the pattern. Twelve is my absolute favourite number, I don't know why, I just like it. So, the only 'good' thing about my birthday is that December is the 12th month.

I had some fabulous birthdays as a kid. My parents were great. I never felt like I was competing [and losing] with Christmas. Not one Christmas-slash-birthday present for me! Look, I don't make a huge fuss or anything because it's rude and there's something to be said about never making someone uncomfortable when they're legitimately trying to do a nice thing for you, but I have three birthday rules that I feel are just basic, polite ways to handle December birthdays. It all boils down to the basic principle of: I don't make your July birthday about Canada Day, or your April/March birthday about Easter, etc., so why would you make my December birthday about Christmas? Here are the rules:

1. If is at all possible, don't give me one present for my birthday and Christmas. I don't do it to you, so don't do it to me. I get it, money is tight around Christmas, but seriously, it sucks. No other occasions get combined as often as Christmas and a December birthday. It's like they're pie and ice cream.

Honestly though, this rule is so flexible. Don't read this and think, "Oh no, I've done this! I'm TERRIBLE!" You're not. At all. Obviously if it's perfect and expensive go for it, give one gift. If not, you could always take your budget, half it, and buy two gifts with the two halves. No one's going to notice, trust me. And if they do they'll either be touched that you tried hard to separate the occasions, or they'll be jerks about it and you just dodged a bullet. Actually, in all seriousness, if your December friend is awful enough to comment if you do, for whatever reason [even if that reason is laziness], give him or her one gift you should probably cut them. In an ideal world I wouldn't have to fight for the limelight with baby Jesus, but it's not an ideal world, the economy sucks, university students are poor, shopping time is tight, December is really freaking busy... I could go on and on, but there are a million reasons why someone might buy a December baby a combined gift. Don't be rude, smile and be grateful you got anything and, if you must, complain about it later to other December folks.

2. Don't give me a Christmas card and add 'Happy Birthday' to the message. This bugs me even more than a single present for two events. I can forgive one present because, like I said, money is tight at Christmas. But I can't forgive one card. Even a folded piece of looseleaf with 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' scrawled on it in barely legible hand writing goes over a million times better than a Happy Birthday/Merry Christmas card.

3. Don't wrap my presents in Christmas wrapping paper.

My parents, family, and most of my friends strictly adhere to these rules, which I am extremely grateful for. Even if it was wrapped in tissue paper instead of real wrapping paper, I knew my birthday present from my parents wouldn't have 'MERRY CHRISTMAS' all over it. I know that my birthday is not too close to Christmas, so I don't have it as bad as anyone born in the second half of December, but, like all December babies, as I got older, my birthday would play second fiddle to everything else going on in December. Christmas, vacations, the many tests and projects that teachers loved to assign for that last week of classes... And, when I got to university, fall term exams.

I remember mentioning university exams a bit dejectedly to my best friend during my last year of high school, and this smug, annoying girl with a late January birthday butted in with, "Well how do you think I feel, I've always had exams on my birthday!" Which, not true, unless she was taking shoe tying exams in kindergarten, or studying at a tenth grade level in grade seven, but whatever. I strained my eyes attempting not to roll them, and I bit my tongue in an effort to not quip back, "Yeah, well, try always competing with Jesus and it's not even his real birthday!" No seriously. All you spring babies should be getting screwed. You can thank the pagans for that, anyone born in March/April. But, I successfully managed to not say a word. It seriously wasn't worth it. This girl used to cry at the drop of a hat. No, really. Sometimes the only thing that would set her off was it was a Tuesday and particularly windy.

Anyway, back to the story. I became particularly neurotic about my birthday when I turned eighteen. I'm not really sure why. I think it was a fear of getting older thing, or maybe it was that adulthood was/is so abstract to me I couldn't, and still can't, believe that legally I'm considered one. I don't know. I do know that my two best friends planned a surprise party for my eighteenth birthday. No small feat considering all the work we had due that week. At least, I'm assuming we had work due that week, I don't really know which is odd because it's the sort of detail I would totally remember.

Right, story.

I actually went to bed. It was some ridiculously early time, like 6 pm, but I had decided that I didn't want it to be December 13th anymore so I was going to sleep until it was December 14th. My mother, panicked, tried to force me to stay up later, but I went to bed anyway, probably after spewing something dramatic and teenager-y. In the end my eighteenth birthday party began with my friends bursting into my room and waking me up.

It's been sort of like that off and on since. I had an exam the day after my 19th birthday, so I spent it studying. I was sick for my 20th birthday, but I also spent it studying. For my 21st birthday I had finished exams crazy early, so I was at home for my birthday. I had a nice family thing. For my 22nd birthday, I celebrated with my two best friends who also have exam/Christmas birthdays. That one was actually really fabulous, with the exception of me bursting into tears over being 22 [and then, hilariously, sobbing harder after one person was all, "but now you're my age!"], but I quickly calmed down [drank some alcohol...] and spent the rest of the evening announcing to anyone who would listen that it was, "MY BIRTHDAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!"

I didn't really expect much for my 23rd birthday, mostly because I just started working and have a social group of exactly two other people in London. But they were really great. Welshie invited me out for drinks, and I asked my new Aussie friend to come along. I wore a new dress I bought on sale, in the petite section so it was actually the proper length on me! Clearly all signs were pointing to a wonderful night out, and I was definitely not disappointed.

It was a lot of fun. Welshie got me a 2011 day planner, which means a lot because I would lost without one, but also because she's currently unemployed. I wasn't expecting anything but some company, honestly, so I'm really grateful. We ate some chili fries [I pretended it was a poutine], drank some alcohol, and then started to dance. Welshie got the DJ to wish me a very happy birthday, we took some funny photos, Aussie almost got knocked down by this guy dancing crazily around us, at us, to us, whatever. It was a laugh. Then the bouncer tried to get us to check our bags and coats, so we left. I have a thing about checking my bag. I need it to stay on my person in case I spontaneously start to die and need my Epi-pen.

We wandered around Leicester Square for a bit, which is always hilarious. People, usually men, stand outside their clubs and bars and basically heckle women in an attempt to get them to go to their club or bar, which they hope will attract men. They're really persistent, and really creepy. Sometimes they follow you around the square, even after you've made it clear that you're not interested. They shout things at you like, "What do you have to lose, c'mon!" and can actually get a little abusive sometimes. Once we were out of the first bar and in the square we were surrounded by these jerks.

One club offered to let us in for free, but when we went up to the door the door person said we had to pay five pounds. We didn't want to pay to go in, so we turned around and left. At that point the owner marches up all, "These are pretty ladies! You let them in for FREE. Check their bags." I like compliments, so I was a little warmer about the place and didn't even mind the bouncer digging around my purse. We went in, but it was dead. There were maybe five people sitting around, so we immediately turned around and left.

The club across the street offered to let us in and give us a free shot each, so we tried that. The shot was absolutely disgusting. It was vodka, triple sec, and lemonade. But hey, alcohol! It was still dead, but honestly, on a Monday with the football game over, we weren't going to find a not-dead place. So, we sat around and took more pictures and people watched.

The night might seem pretty boring, especially since we left early enough that we could get home using the tubes, but I had a really great time. So, I guess, I have to admit that celebrating my birthday in London really wasn't that bad.

<3 Jade