When the new year comes around many things happen. I turn another year better and am reminded of childhood birthdays past when I would receive one gift for both Christmas and Birthday which completely royally sucked. I’ve told (and loving telling) the story about being the third baby born in 1968 in Nashville, TN. They forced labor on a woman who won the prizes for birthing the first of the year and at eighteen I graduated high school with her son. Music City U.S.A. is a small, small world.
Now you would think having a birthday on New Years Day would be exciting. Well, don’t bet on it. I love being a Capricorn. However, as a child we were always out for holiday break so no class party at school. As an adult just coming out it seemed everyone was for the most part high-drunk-hung-over from NYE so it became the obligatory “Happy Birthday, Girl!” on the dance floor and that was it at midnight. Thank you for the free therapy session. Where’s you can for nickels, Lucy?
The more mature I’ve become helps me realize birthdays are what you make of them. Big parties are important to some. We don’t mind having a few close friends over but we save the bigger gatherings for bigger houses at other’s properties. The Husband and I tend to celebrate with a sushi and sake oblivion here locally with our holiday trip to Sin City since Xmas and my day o’birth is one week apart. It has become our treat to ourselves and I really wouldn’t have it any other way.
New Year’s Eve has such expectation attached to it that I like to refer to it as “amateur night.” Who will you kiss at midnight? How much will you spend? Why is it so crowded? How could he show up with him when he knows you’ll be there? See my point? Yawn. No Tea. I remember getting gussied up in my Versace club wear best and tipped to the club in hopes for a smooch at midnight from some handsome stranger. It was fun for a minute. I’m glad I married off. There were a few NYE in Ft. Lauderdale when I would be hired to dance at the clubs and as it approached midnight I would head backstage and ride it out as a single man alone counting my tips. It didn’t bother me.
It tends to make me slightly emotional, as well. The change of time into a brand new year and new opportunity mixed with the birthday becoming another year wiser gives me pause for reflection. I’m very happy in my life right now. I’m incredibly grateful for what I have and have become. A new year gives one chance to change things needing it. People make resolutions but I’ve always said to start yesterday. Stop talking about and work it out. As Quinn claimed in the MTV cult classic Daria, “If not me, who? If not now, when?” Create your own destiny, child.
I do have to end with one more fierce birthday story and then it’s lights out. Getting to the point… Picture it. Atlanta, 1994. I had gone out to Backstreet with my friend and Falcon model (at the time) Brandon West. I was serving Versace pants and black silk shirt. Giving it to you, Hunty. It was one of the first times I had shaved my head and I was really tan. We got to the club and it was so packed that soon after we arrived I got over it and wanted to leave. To know me is to know this would be no surprise. Eh, love me or leave me.
I walked to the pay phone in front of The Armory and called my roommates to come and pick me up. Not sure of the excuse they gave me not to come but I didn’t like it one bit, hung up and started walking to the Marta station to take the train home. NYE rang midnight as I was on the train. I walked in and scowled at Bob who was perched on the couch as his boyfriend Chris came from in the kitchen. I brought the dramarama in when I spat out, “I’m sorry I even bothered you” before twisting up the stairs to my room. This was very my speed during these years.
Quelle surprise! The next morning after I settled down I find out that they couldn’t come get me because they were baking me a birthday cake and preparing a big breakfast. We had a good laugh about it and I gained one more story to tell one day. And as my t-shirt from The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas says, “Whoever Collects the Most Stories Wins.”