Turning 33 was a total let down in comparison.
Its my fault. The original plan was to head to the beach for the weekend to celebrate a friends wedding and my birthday. I'd sit through a quasi-wedding shower, then we were going to eat, drink, squeeze in one last beach day, possibly get in a little special spa time... Well, Tropical Storm Hannah blew those plans all to pieces. We canceled on the weekend and planned a more traditional shower for Saturday, my birthday. I was totally fine with sacrificing my birthday day for a friend - like I said, I don't like to make a big deal out of stuff. And, we were going to go out afterward, maybe someone would buy me a drink, and I could pretend that I had actually done something on my birthday.
Guess what? Old Hannah was threatening to close local bridges and cause ridiculous amounts of flooding around here, so the girls got scared and postponed the shower until Sunday. I found this out around noon on Saturday and it threw me into a total fit. It was noon on my birthday, it was stormy as hell outside, nobody in their right mind would want to leave the house, and I had absolutely no plans. No cake, no beer (as you know, beer and cake go together really well), no birthday wishes, no bad singing... Plus, I had to cancel my Sunday plans with ED so I could go to the wedding shower the next day.
I pouted. I curled up in a ball on my bed. I ignored all the phone calls that were coming in to wish me a happy birthday. I felt sorry for myself. I took a nap. I woke up feeling sorry for myself. I am such a baby.
I finally rallied. My friend Mike's bbq got cancelled, I found a Happy Birthday $20 coupon from a great Italian restaurant near his house at the bottom of my recycle pile and decided to actually leave the house. By the time I got in my car, the sun was actually peeking through the clouds. We had a great time, split a bottle of wine, ate great food, and cuz it was my birthday, we both ordered our own desserts (none of that sharing a dessert crap that happens when girls go out to eat).
What I really wanted though, as the red wine started to seep into my blood vessels, was to be out with a guy that I was romantically involved with. The last time I had a real boyfriend on my birthday? 2002. And that doesn't even count, because we were just about over, and I helped nail that coffin shut by opting to spend my birthday on the west coast with friends - without him (I think I got a hose from him that year for my present. I'm not sure I even deserved that). I was with him for 6 years or so, so I'm sure we must have done some sort of romantic dinner thing at least once, but if we did, I really don't remember.
I know that having a boyfriend doesn't ensure that flowers will show up on my doorstep or that I will be wined and dined on my birthday, but it certainly increases the chances. But it also increases the chances of being bitterly disappointed when you wanted romance, and instead got baseball tickets and a case of Miller Lite.