4/16/2012 Day 8
Wow. I’m already more than 1/10th along the way of my daily writing path to turning 50. I’m so excited. I wonder what my friends have planned for me for my birthday. After all, it’s a big one. Oh, that’s right: I’m an A-type personality. I’m a control freak. I don’t like surprises. And I made all of my friends “a-feared-a-me” by threats, blackmail, and spontaneous public tirades. Should they throw me a party they have come to understand that I would not like it and “something bad might happen.” Whugh-whah-whah…
There will be no birthday party for me this year. But let me assure you that I really don’t want one (maybe next year when I’ll be re-branded at a perpetual 39). And then let me explain why it’s never a good thing to spring a party on a guy who has been acting like a complete dude-bitch about his upcoming 50th birthday.
The reason I do not want a birthday this year is because there is already too much pressure to do it big. At 50 you’re supposed to have the income and the friends who can afford an Italy trip or a cruise together. But that’s not me and that’s not my friends. No matter how much I relate to those people who could afford such things on TV I never made it to that yearly income, and, if I did, I didn’t know it because I’ve been a credit card using, lousy-saver. You see, I have lived a flip-flopped life. I have had more Euro trips and big parties than most people get in a lifetime. I’ve had more loves, more lasting friendships, more decadence, and more meaningful experiences than anyone should be allowed to experience in a lifetime before having to wrap it up due to too many Karma points used up.
Do you remember how hard you worked in school to get your degree? Or how hard you worked and saved for that house? Did you take on two full-time jobs because you had that surprise extra kid whom you wanted to get into college one day? Yeah. I did none of that. I went from my Jr. Year in high school to my first “Melrose Place” apartment with a pool and took my vacations to Switzerland, Hawaii, London and Italy before I was 22. With the exception of my parents investing (and loosing) some money in a business I had in the 80s, I paid for all of this by myself. And I’ve lived in proverbial palaces in the centers of lovely places like Belmont Shores of Long Beach California, Toronto and Chicago. I’m not saying I owned the places but I’ve lived well and I do feel blessed.
So now is the time for me to work hard and apply myself for that nest egg that most of you have worked so hard to accrue. I know the economy has laid the playing field pretty even between the middle class Jones via stock market lows and IRA losses. And maybe you’re like me, a guy who didn’t save much and thought the party would never end. Either way, I don’t feel like celebrating my 50 years and I don’t want you to either until I can afford the party I want; which leads me to the dude-bitch part again.
In my state of mind, if anyone throws me a surprise party, do you know what I’ll see? I’ll see all the people who aren’t there, like my parents and my brother and friends. You know, the people who I’ve spent portions my yearly income and vacations to fly to and visit for thier special occasions while I was in my 20s, 30s, and early 40s–and yet, I doubt if I had 1/10th of the reciprocation from them in all those years combined.
I am the dude-bitch and I’m turning 50.
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