I have a lot of Libras in my life. I'm sure there's an astrological reason, but I'm not aware of it. Right now I'm in the thick of celebrating their existence. My dad, my sister, and two of my closest friends have birthdays within ten days of each other. Flavored card envelope glue is not a bad idea.
You may be surprised to learn that I myself am not an even, balanced Libra. I'm a Taurus and sometimes a Gemini depending on the horoscope source. Being born on a cusp causes split personality, or so I've been told. Being born on the cusp of the twin sign, heaps on extra insanity, by my own assessment. Lots of personalities fighting for control. Every day. No wonder I'm tired.
Crazy.
Everyone can agree, the best gauge of your birthday's worth is the caliber of celebrities who share it.
I share my birthday with Mr. T, Ray Bradbury, no wait, Raymond Burr (I get them confused), Judge Reinhold and Al Franken. Then a lot of people I never, ever heard of (Latin soap actresses?) and I've heard of most people.
Conclusion: my birthday is a big, fat dud. Or was until the world almost ended.
May 21, 2001 was supposed to be "it" for all humanity. Remember? I guess that's pretty cool? A psycho preacher did some wacky math and chose my birthday for the apocalypse. Mine! And Mr. T's! We'll take it!! Notoriety is better than nothing.
When the earth kept spinning, I turned 40 (bleh) and bought a t-shirt no one will understand once another prophecy trends. The ancient Mayans are betting (the lives of young virgins at the edge of a volcano) on December.
The fact that no decent celebrities were born on May 21st means my birthday is due. Maybe Kate and Will's baby (I'm still convinced she's pregnant) will be born on May 21st? Or the scientist who cures cancer? Or the next big break out star? Perhaps that blog writer star is me?! I have dreams of grandeur! Or at least one of my personalities does.
Cool.
On Monday, I went to dinner with two friends I've known since elementary school. When we get together, we always go to The Cheesecake Factory and we always order sour apple martinis, and we always complain when we don't get a young male waiter who flirts with us, or at least with Layne because she was our homecoming queen.
This time out, we were celebrating Joby's birthday. She has the best celebrity birth-pals ever. I am very jealous. Dwight D. Eisenhower, E.E. Cummings, Ralph Lauren, Roger Moore, William Penn, Lourdes Leon (that's Madonna's daughter for all you pop culture dummies), Bunsen MacKenzie (who turns 14!) and Stacy Keibler. I wonder if George Clooney will surprise Stacy with a romantic trip to The Cheesecake Factory for sour apple martinis? Unlikely. I read in People that she adheres to a very strict diet. I would rather drink martinis and enjoy unlimited dairy than look like her. Not worth it. I might be lying. No, I couldn't live without cheese.
Old friendship is the greatest. Relaxed and comfortable and supportive and funny. You don't stay close to someone for decades if your humor isn't compatible. We usually laugh and cry and laugh in that order. Every dinner. Every time. We are mutually making the best of our mayhem, successfully parenting 8 kids between us, and venting regularly at an over-hyped chain restaurant that is never not crowded. Life is good.
But it's also scary.
What helps? Knowing a friend of 35 years won't ever exit your scene, especially when that scene has three pages of appetizers. I am certain, there are many, many crispy crab won tons in our future...
and fewer and fewer flirtatious waiters. Sigh.
You may be surprised to learn that I myself am not an even, balanced Libra. I'm a Taurus and sometimes a Gemini depending on the horoscope source. Being born on a cusp causes split personality, or so I've been told. Being born on the cusp of the twin sign, heaps on extra insanity, by my own assessment. Lots of personalities fighting for control. Every day. No wonder I'm tired.
Crazy.
Everyone can agree, the best gauge of your birthday's worth is the caliber of celebrities who share it.
I share my birthday with Mr. T, Ray Bradbury, no wait, Raymond Burr (I get them confused), Judge Reinhold and Al Franken. Then a lot of people I never, ever heard of (Latin soap actresses?) and I've heard of most people.
Conclusion: my birthday is a big, fat dud. Or was until the world almost ended.
May 21, 2001 was supposed to be "it" for all humanity. Remember? I guess that's pretty cool? A psycho preacher did some wacky math and chose my birthday for the apocalypse. Mine! And Mr. T's! We'll take it!! Notoriety is better than nothing.
When the earth kept spinning, I turned 40 (bleh) and bought a t-shirt no one will understand once another prophecy trends. The ancient Mayans are betting (the lives of young virgins at the edge of a volcano) on December.
Cool.
On Monday, I went to dinner with two friends I've known since elementary school. When we get together, we always go to The Cheesecake Factory and we always order sour apple martinis, and we always complain when we don't get a young male waiter who flirts with us, or at least with Layne because she was our homecoming queen.
This time out, we were celebrating Joby's birthday. She has the best celebrity birth-pals ever. I am very jealous. Dwight D. Eisenhower, E.E. Cummings, Ralph Lauren, Roger Moore, William Penn, Lourdes Leon (that's Madonna's daughter for all you pop culture dummies), Bunsen MacKenzie (who turns 14!) and Stacy Keibler. I wonder if George Clooney will surprise Stacy with a romantic trip to The Cheesecake Factory for sour apple martinis? Unlikely. I read in People that she adheres to a very strict diet. I would rather drink martinis and enjoy unlimited dairy than look like her. Not worth it. I might be lying. No, I couldn't live without cheese.
Old friendship is the greatest. Relaxed and comfortable and supportive and funny. You don't stay close to someone for decades if your humor isn't compatible. We usually laugh and cry and laugh in that order. Every dinner. Every time. We are mutually making the best of our mayhem, successfully parenting 8 kids between us, and venting regularly at an over-hyped chain restaurant that is never not crowded. Life is good.
But it's also scary.
What helps? Knowing a friend of 35 years won't ever exit your scene, especially when that scene has three pages of appetizers. I am certain, there are many, many crispy crab won tons in our future...
and fewer and fewer flirtatious waiters. Sigh.
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