I’m not big on celebrating my birthday.
Not because I have a problem getting older. That doesn’t bother me at all. I stopped aging 15 years ago when I started pumping my face full of enough Botox to paralyze a hippo…and whenever something starts to sag, I simply have it removed, lifted, reshaped or replaced. So at any given time, at least 85% of my body is showroom new anyway, or at the very least previously owned with low mileage. In fact, I’m pretty sure my left ear used to belong to Mary Tyler Moore.
I enjoy the process of aging with grace. I just don’t feel the need to celebrate it with grand flair because inevitably, my friends have a way of making it all about them.
Take Lindsey Lohan for example. She had to go and get herself put back in jail for failing a drug test. Then she got out of jail. It’s been a few minutes, so for all I know, she’s back in jail again trying to snort cooking flour in the mess hall.
Then Betty White totally stole my birthday thunder by winning an Emmy for her performance on Saturday Night Live. But whatever. That’s old news. I’m a little behind the times, as I’ve been gone on holiday for quite some time.
This year, I decided to make it just about me. So I left town. For like, a month. I really needed to unplug for a while. You don’t turn 25 every day – and I just felt it was important to take some time to reflect on what I’d accomplished in my short 31 years on this earth. As it turned out, my little mediterranean jaunt was just what the doctor ordered – because I returned home feeling refreshed, renewed, revived and Rejuvidermed…ready to take on 29 with the same verve I did when I turned 34…19 years ago.
I was hoping to return unnoticed – as if I had never really left at all. Enough time had passed since my birthday, I figured my friends would have forgotten all about it.
No such luck.
Without fail, every year - Betty insists on trying to surprise me with an big birthday bash. And since I’m not an easy person to surprise, every year the surprises just get more extravagant and elaborate. She insists on topping herself with a surprise greater than the last. This year was no exception, despite my attempt to escape the observance all together.
I joined Betty, Elton John, Lenny Kravitz and Ann Coulter for what I thought was going to be a quiet, low-key dinner to celebrate my 35th birthday. A gentle, demure homage to the beautiful life of Aunt Johnny. I envisioned us spending the evening reminiscing over my 47 years of bringing sweetness and light to all the lives I’ve touched.
Instead, Betty took us to a strip club where 200 of my closest friends screamed “SURPRISE” while men and women jirated on poles wearing nothing but tassels and stilettos. Upon closer inspection though, I realized my 200 “closest friends” were perfect strangers.
“Betty, who are all these people?” I asked, licking whip cream from the abs of a well-muscled male stripper, “Why would you throw me a party and not invite anyone I know?”
“Every body throws surprise parties where the only people invited are friends. But no one thinks to throw a surprise party where no one is a friend!” she screamed with delight, clapping her hands together as if she just figured out how to upload photos to Facebook, “SURPRISE!!”
As it turned out, it wasn’t such a bad idea. I met a lot of interesting people that evening. I would have met more – but I spent much of the night keeping tabs on Ann.
She is what is known as a “mean drunk”. And she started out the evening pretty angry in the first place.
If you want to get technical, she probably started out puberty pretty damn angry and hasn’t felt any other emotion since. But in this case, she was still rubbing out the sting from falling flat on her face in a failed attempt at stand up comedy at Homocon – a convention run by gay Republicans called GOProud. She was billed as the party’s very own right wing Judy Garland.
Though, I’m not sure Judy would have addressed the Umpa Lumpas by saying, “Marriage is not a civil right. You’re not black.”
For that matter, she probably wouldn’t have suggested that the conservative gay-rights movement should link up with the anti-abortion movement because “as soon as they find the gay gene, you know who’s getting aborted.”
“Look Kitten, we’re celebrating my birthday tonight – so we are not discussing your poor decision to try and befriend the gays,” I said, touching up the make up of a large breasted female stripper, “You should have known better. The gays might be damned to burn in hell – but they have a biting wit that would crack up a hick in a coma. You’re a Republican…which means, you’re not funny. You’re not even interesting. You have sharp, angular features and hair that is is so bone straight it appears to be trying to escape from your head. When you put all of this together, what you have is an unattractive woman with the personality of a barbecued rice cake standing on stage trying to wow a bunch of self-loathing fags in Brooks Brother’s button downs. Consider this a lesson learned – and stick with appealing to those who believe in maintaining true traditional Christian values in this great nation while paying for hookers on the side.”
I later found her making out with a rather efeminate guy with a nose ring and sleave tattoos. Or a really butch girl with a nose ring and sleave tattoos. I’m not sure which. She seemed to be having a good time though, so I didn’t make a fuss.
Betty disappeared early in the evening with a stripper. The bitch has got some serious game now that she’s a media darling. Her pick up line “ever seen an Emmy up close?” works every time.
At midnight, the music stopped – and Elton had a giant cake wheeled out to the center of the club. It said “Happy 94th Birthday, You Old Bitch” written on top. It was covered in lit candles…apparently, one for every year of my birthday. The flames got a little out of control and set off the fire alarm and sprinkler system.
Ordinarily, I would have been miffed by Elton’s little dig at my getting a year older. But it all backfired on him since the sprinklers ruined his sequent smoking jacket and drenched his wig. He looked like a wet yorkshire terrier in drag. Turn about is fair play, after all.
Lenny was in a bit of a bind though. He had an early flight to New York and his clothes were too soaked to dry in time. So I lent him some of mine. Now everyone is calling him so “avante garde” for stretching the boundaries of fashion by wearing leather and knee-high wedge boots – and thinking it’s ok.
You’re welcome, Lenny.
Love ya like celebrating 41 on my 23rd birthday with close friends…and some not so close ones,
Link to Ann Coulter at Homocon: http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2010/09/ann_coulters_three-for-one_slu.html
Link to Lenny Kravitz Style Watch: http://stylenews.peoplestylewatch.com/2010/09/24/lenny-kravitzs-knee-high-wedge-boots-love-em-or-hate-em/?xid=rss-topheadlines&utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+people%2Fheadlines+%28PEOPLE.com%3A+Top+Headlines%29&utm_content=Yahoo+Search+Results