I celebrated my birthday this past weekend! Birthdays are awesome because they’re the one time of year when you can be selfish, egotistical, and unreasonable at the expense of your friends and family. The victims around you cannot pass judgment on you or your behavior. The harshest thing they can say to you is a bitter “I’ll be sure to return the favor on my birthday.”
Acting absurd on your birthday is even superior to making unreasonable demands while planning your wedding. If you have even one temper tantrum in preparation of your special day, you will quickly be branded a “bride-zilla” or “groom-zilla.” Suddenly, every opinion or misgiving you have is met with an eye-roll, chuckle, or simply a knowing look exchanged among your audience.
Birthdays are different. Every year, once a year you have the right to be upset over a myriad of “minor” offenses:
Bad gifts or no gifts.
Calling too late or not calling at all.
Forgetting your birthday.
Singing the “happy birthday” song.
Not singing the “happy birthday” song.
And God forbid your significant other is not the first person to write on your Facebook wall.
Your birthday is the one time of year when you can walk up to complete strangers and demand appreciation. You can interrupt ongoing conversations with “Today is my birthday!” And if the person in front of you in the Customer Service line at Kmart doesn’t immediately turn around, smile and enthusiastically wish that you have the time of your life, then *they’re* the weirdo.
‘What the hell? Why didn’t he wish me happy birthday?’ is a justified thought.
I took full advantage of this phenomenon last weekend, responding to any protests with a simple “It’s my birthday weekend!” As a result, I had a pretty amazing birthday. I had breakfast in bed, a free personal chauffeur, great food, drinks, & lots of laughs.
Even my younger brother cheerfully advising me that I’m just another year closer to 30 couldn’t bring me down.
Paying bills sucks! So I stopped paying them. Now I have more money to buy wine.
I used to go through the daily ritual of opening mail and throwing it down in disappointment upon learning that So-and-So wants $$$ by XX Date. Now I just drop everything in the shredder. The grinding sound of a bill collector’s dreams going up in smoke is liberating.
Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’t end when you don’t pay your bills. I stamped my unopened power bill “Return to Sender” and nothing bad happened. Now instead of using those hot ceiling lamps at night, I light a candle. It’s a cool tribute to the middle ages.
Before, I would have to wait for my ice cream to reach that perfect half melted stage before I ate it because the coldness was a shock to my sensitive teeth. Now when I open the freezer, my ice cream is at the perfect temperature.
Television used to be such a distraction, especially during football season. Now that we no longer have cable, my husband has no choice but to talk to me.
Student loans, shmudent loans. If the Gov’ment wanted that money back they’d have given me a higher paying job. Sheeit.
I am still paying rent, but only because I enjoy living in a house. But if someone let me move in with them I’d tell my landlord to kiss my ass too.
So to all those Suckas out there still giving your money away for no apparent reason: Stop paying your bills.
My husband left me a present. No, not flowers. Not chocolates. Better.
I came home from work and noticed that he had left some closed tupperware containers in the sink. I decided to wash the dishes so I could make some dinner.
When I opened the tupperware, I was completely overtaken by frightening fumes. A horrible stench.
Something had died in these containers.
Upon further inspection, I noticed that the mashed potato residue inside one container was green. The other container appeared to have once held spaghetti but it was now filled with white. fuzzy. mold.
Shocked and horrified, I fled the kitchen and called my husband. “What was in these dishes?” “Where did they come from?” “How long have you had them??” “Why???”
He found them in a lunch box in his office. Who knows how long they had been there.
I was so traumatized that I forgot to make dinner.
“With a mind of its own, your new Hasbro FURBY will develop its personality based on how you play with it. It will dance to your favorite songs. Put it in a room with a few of its friends and they’ll interact with each other in all sorts of hilarious ways while speaking either English or the special FURBY language, FURBISH.”
The Purple 2012 Furby is kind of cute. But there’s no “OFF” switch.
If you want me to do something for you, only ask me once.
Do not call me, leave a voicemail, email me, and text me. Do not send me an IM letting me know that you’re about to send me an email. Don’t send me a text message asking if I listened to your voicemail.
Speaking of voicemail, don’t leave me a voicemail with the message “Hey, give me a call when you get a chance.” I’m not going to call you back. If I wanted to talk to you, I would have answered the phone when you called me.
Don’t call me several times over the course of a day and not leave me a message. Clearly, I am screening your calls to determine whether or not taking your call will be a waste of my time. State your purpose, and be brief with it.
It’s a surprisingly little known fact about Leos that the more you want us to do something, the less inclined we are to acquiesce to your request.