Comments on: Birthdays Suck

by: Anne Cain

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 04:10:32 +0000

Eeeee— missed your B-day, Bam!?!? *hangs head in SHAME* I’m sending a hundred belated birthday hugs-n-kisses, and a round of e-margaritas.

(And Brian gets bonus points for thinking of Justin Hartley. )

by: Karmyn

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 01:28:31 +0000

I think Ann wins worst birthday. Well, other than my great-great grandmother who actually died on her birthday. But then so did Shakespeare and John Banner.

by: heather (errantdreams)

Thu, 18 Oct 2007 15:52:36 +0000

I think my worst birthday was the one my husband and I were supposed to spend together, but he was on call, and ended up getting called to the phone like every 30 minutes. I got so frustrated.

That isn’t so bad, really, as bad birthdays go; mostly mine have just been unmemorable. I hope yours got better!

by: Karmyn

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 19:40:29 +0000

I have plenty of other horrible birthday stories, but I still don’t think anything tops 14. Although 19 was bad in spots, 23 I got sick, and 25 was a week after we moved away from the home we had lived in forever. My parents had lived there at least 30 years and my Dad had lived on the property until he was 12. This land had been the family for generations, but we lost it to back taxes. As drafty and falling down as the houses were, I still miss them.
I once met two people who were born on the actual day the Challenger exploded. Poor kids.
32 has turned out okay so far. I got a few gifts I had bought for myself today, I got more money then I expected, and the nurse agreed to wait to cut open the hematoma on my thumb. I told her it can wait until next week when flu shorts come in. That way I can get all the pain over at once.

by: Ann Aguirre

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 14:58:37 +0000

Happy birthday, Dee. Your present should be there soon. But I won’t tell you to think of me when you’re using or, or people will think we’re like Butch and Vishous.

Worst birthday story? Well, when I was 19 my grandpa died. I was at his funeral on my birthday. That was pretty terrible.

And last year, Andres went to Huatulco, leaving me alone with the kids. He had a business conference to attend and didn’t bother checking if we could come along. Turns out we could have — other wives and kids were there. Nobody called me to say happy birthday either. And when he got home, he gave me a present that said, “I forgot, panicked, and bought this at the airport.” He was lucky he didn’t buy me tequila cos I would’ve clocked him with it.

by: Lorelie

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 13:56:28 +0000

I was at a bridal shower for my brother’s fiance (that I was throwing with my aunt) and my aunt turned to me and said “Hey, isn’t it your anniversary?”. She was the only one in our ENTIRE family . . . who remembered.

I can one up ya! My step-brother planned his actual wedding, not just the shower, on my anniversary and no one noticed, remembered or even said sorry when I pointed it out.

by: Charlene

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 11:57:07 +0000

The worst? My 18th, which is the big one where I live. Cramps so bad I ended up in the college infirmary on drugs that made it impossible for me to drink. Better yet, when I got home it turned out that my family forgot, even my mother. They looked at me blank-faced when I said it was my birthday, then all said “oh, yeah”. I thought they were joking, but it turned out they weren’t.

They tried to make it up later on with a “party”, and I played along, but it really hurt at the time.

by: raine

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 06:16:23 +0000

Happy Birthday!
(And for pete’s sake–you’re gorgeous. What else d’ya want?).

Worst birthday?
24th.
A group of friends came to pick me up for a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. I’m at my thinnest weight ever, great dress, kick-ass shoes, matching shoulderbag.
I come sauntering down my mom’s staircase as they’re outside blowing the horn. Three steps, a landing in front of a window, nine more steps down.
The heel on the right shoe breaks.
I fall. Three steps. Grab for the railing. Miss. Good Lord, I’m heading for the window, and I’m two stories up.
Manage to twist the body so no, I don’t fall out the window–just down four more steps. Ouch.
Mom calmly comes to staircase. “You alright?”
“What could possibly be wrong?” I croak. I’m dangling from the railing, and the purse is now my earring.
“Well hurry up, those people are honking outside.”
After quick change of shoes, I endure the ride to the restaurant with everyone telling me how good I look. Once we arrived, I excused myself to go to the bathroom and take inventory. Twisted ankle–check. Bloody kneecap, which has halted the run in my stocking–check. Old shoes that pinched the toes–check. All fingernails of right hand left embedded in railing–check.
Still, I tried to enjoy the dinner. It was only halfway through that my friends noticed I had tears rolling down my cheek.
They thought I was so moved by their efforts I was crying.
F*ck no–the chef that was stir-frying at our table had smoke just pouring into my contact-lensed eyes.

Happy Birthday, Bam (and watch those stairs…)

by: Bettie

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 06:05:41 +0000

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAM!

My birthday mantra: It doesn’t mater what the D.O.B. on your license is, as long as bouncers and liquor store clerks still ask to see it when you buy booze.

On the other hand, nothing makes you feel old like realizing that you are actually happy to get carded.

Worst birthday? So many to choose from…

How about this? The 1992 LA riots started on my birthday. Downside: I watched my old neighborhood burn on TV. Upside: My birthday’s in the title of a Sublime song. Downside to the Upside: the date in the song’s opening line is wrong. Bugs me every time I hear it.

by: BevL(QB)

Wed, 17 Oct 2007 01:24:34 +0000

Happy Birthday Bamster! May you blow more than candles, and may more than cake be eaten tonight!

I’ve had bad birthdays all my life. Mine is 5 days after Christmas and the night before New Years Eve. So, not only did Christmas presents get held back to be given on my birthday, but it was always Christmas break at school, so no friends around to celebrate with. And to top it all off, once I got old enough to bar crawl, the damn bars were always empty (aka slim pickup pickins’) because everyone was gearing up for New Year’s Eve the following night. BLECH!

But, then again, no birthdays REALLY suck when you consider the alternative. *g*