Birthdays

Yesterday was my birthday.

I have this odd relationship with my birthday and the festivities surrounding it. The last "real" birthday party I had was my tenth, the summer before fifth grade. Then there was a random surprise party my mom threw me when I was twelve which was great, but I think she mainly threw it because it freaked her out how cool I was with just celebrating with my best friend, my family, and a movie at home. She felt bad and like I was missing out on something.

There are few things in this world that I dislike more than being the center of attention. In fact, the only thing I may dislike more is when people jaywalk or cut across perfectly manicured grass. But, I digress. Positive attention, negative attention, I don't care--I simply don't like it. Parties--especially where I'm the guest of honor--just aren't for me. I shudder to think about the day I get married; maybe I'll elope. Just joking.

As much as I dislike attention, I still like to know that people care and haven't forgotten about me (or my birthday). Basically, I'm a stereotypical girl. This is where the relationship that I share with my birthday and the festivities that accompany it gets complicated. The line between a celebration or acknowledgement being too over the top but not quite acknowledgement enough is a very fine line.

I don't think anyone quite understands this weird hangup/relationship with attention as my best girlfriend and roommate for the past three years does. My boyfriend's empathy on the subject is a close second to hers. But really, that's an irrelevant piece of information. I kind of just wanted to brag on them (hi, best girlfriend and boyfriend if you ever read this! *waves*).

This summer I'm in Los Angeles for an internship, which is also where my boyfriend lives. Clarification: my boyfriend lives in LA not in my internship. I'm not sure if it's possible for someone to live in an internship since that's sort of an intangible thing (I mean, the word itself is intangible. Internships definitely have tangible duties like learning how to use a Keruig coffee maker). Anyway, back to the topic at hand. There have been probably five or six years in my life where I haven't been at home on my birthday, so being in LA the day I turned twenty wasn't exactly excruciatingly painful. Sure, I missed my family and friends back home like crazy, but I had friends here to make up for it in some ways, you know? But for the most part, these are new friends, and so for my birthday I was a expecting a movie night and take-out with my boyfriend. Seriously! And I would have been happy as a sitting duck (or is the phrase "sitting cow"? I always get the two mixed up) with that. But when I got to his apartment that evening, I was surprised to find his front door locked. Suddenly, it opened to ambient cricketing noises that made me feel like I was back in Georgia, little pin pricks of light projected on the ceiling that were stars, a red and white checkered table cloth on the floor with a picnic basket full of vegan deliciousness, two French baguettes and a bottle of wine.

He'd thrown me a surprise picnic for my birthday!

Later, some friends came by for cake (another surprise! I'm really easy to surprise, a fact my dad pointed out via FaceTime the next day. The boyfriend agreed). This little party toed that weird little line that I carefully monitor and walk on; it was the perfect balance of attention/not attention for my taste.

Oh, it also rained! Water droplets from the clouds actually descended upon West Hollywood! This, I've learned after a few months of living here, is a rarity. So naturally the rain garnered more attention than the day celebrating my birth. Which was great!

And, it was a great way to start off my twenties.