Birthday’s Are Different When your an Adult……

So, this year my birthday came and went and it felt…….blah.  Yes, that’s exactly how it felt, why?  Because birthdays are different when you’re an adult.  All the fascination and excitement leaves when you’re the one that is planning your own party or birthday plans.  Unless of course the entire world forgot your birthday then you have the right to go buy a couple of bottles of wine or coconut rum and have a party all by yourself singing “all by myself” by Eric Carmen.  All the while talking to yourself sitting on your back porch patio set with your Bluetooth speaker as loud as it can go not caring if you bother the neighbors or not.  Because those mofos play Karaoke at 2:30am on a freaking Friday night when you’re trying to sleep (you know who you are).

Anyway, birthdays lose their appeal as we get older, well at least for me they have.  I turned (yikes) 49 on Saturday and I woke up not feeling special at all.  It only meant that I became one year older and although I have accomplished a lot in the last ten years (bachelors, Master’s, new job and finally getting financially stable) it felt like any other day.  But, I must say it was better than most years, especially at work.  My new department goes out of their way to make everyone feel as special as possible on their birthdays.  They decorate the office doors with corny birthday decorations and they take that person to lunch on their day.  I even got flowers this year, and that alone is a big step from my previous department.  In my last department I got overlooked for my birthday for the three years I was there, and that is just plain bullshit if you ask me.

As for my birthday at home, my oldest and his girlfriend bought me lunch and new iPad (yay!).  My baby and his girlfriend took me to dinner at Olive Garden.  And my middle son?  Well he doesn’t celebrate birthdays anymore since converting to Johova’s Witness.  I respect his decision because he’s an adult and I will love him no matter what.  But he did call me and said “Hey mom, so you’re the big 4-9 today, and I just want you to know I love you so much!”

That was his way of saying Happy Birthday without saying Happy Birthday and I appreciate it. My parents also came by and every year I hear the same story from my mom.  She says “On October 4th I went into labor, and you wouldn’t come out.  You kept me in pain for two entire days until the doctor said he was going to do a cesarean section because you didn’t want to come out.”  And then proceeds to show me the scar on her stomach that I apparently left there, not the doctor who cut her open but me.  And every year she brags about how when I was being born there was an earth quake that day in San Bernardino, but I looked it up and there was NO EARTHQUAKE on October 6th 1969 in San Bernardino California mom! And there was probably a good reason why I didn’t want to leave the comfort and solace of the womb.

But as for me sitting in my backyard swigging from the wine bottle like a railroad car jumping hobo, that’s what it took for me to realize that as an adult birthday’s are not as fun as when you’re a kid.  I had my one and only birthday party when I turned 10 years old.  I still remember what I got for my birthday gift, a beautiful silver watch.  My parents bought it for me (I still have it) and my mom bought me a beautiful light purple dress with very small light blue, pink and yellow polka dots and a brand new pair of white patent leather shoes.  I had a white and purple birthday cake from Greggerson’s Cake Cottage.  I mean that was “the” place if you wanted to get a cake.  Everyone wanted a cake from there, in school you were the shit if you got a cake from Greggerson’s.  I had party bags with all kinds of candy and I had the best time.

Not that I didn’t have a great time all by myself (literally) on Saturday night on my back porch improvising karaoke on my Bluetooth speaker singing “I’m Just a Girl” by No Doubt so loud that my back neighbors two German Shepard’s were howling for me to shut up.  But I was like “Suck it Rocco and Jerry, ya’ll keep me up at night when you howl at the damned police sirens or howl for hours in the summer when the ice cream truck passes by so now we’re even!”  I’m not saying I didn’t have a good time, my son’s did a wonderful job of remembering and I appreciated their efforts.  I’m saying that when you’re a kid birthdays seem so much more surprisingly magical.  But I suppose that if I were a kid I wouldn’t be able to sit and have a couple (or more) Rum and Cranberry juice drinks while alienating my neighbors with loud music karaoke and fighting with their dogs and laughing loudly alone to stupid shit I say (to myself).  Maybe next year when I turn the big 5-O I will actually plan my birthday party and have my boys, family and friends there to sing “I’m Just a Girl” with me.  Here’s to next year, Cheers!Birthday’s Are Different When Your an Adult


Prince Charming Is Dead……I Can Save Myself. A Story of Vampires, Sleeping Beauty and Romantically Created Myths.

Prince Charming Is Dead……I Can Save Myself. A Story of Vampires, Sleeping Beauty and Romantically Created Myths.94b76bf2ce7f2ed471bca089f4174c29

Part 1 = The Beginning of the Mythical Lie

When I was about eight or nine years old I was sitting watching the Lawrence Welk show with my parents and my grandfather (yes one might be able to guess my age by that very comment) and as one of the tall, dark and extremely handsome singers (I think his name was Tom Netherton) came on, my mom commented, “one day, hopefully you’ll meet someone like him and he will marry you and make you so happy”.  As I turned back to the box console television set to stare in total wonder at this very white, good looking, devastatingly handsome man.  I began to wonder if there were men out there that looked exactly like him, a Prince Charming type that every girl like me knew would find them someday and take them away to live happily ever after……….

Of course I was only eight or nine years old what the fuck did I know of love, happily ever after or Prince Charming for that matter.  I could file that comment under, “lies my mother told me” and that file would get bigger and bigger as I got older.  But that one particular one, that one thoughtless comment would stick with me for most of my adult life.  The lie that parents perpetuate to their daughters that there is a Prince Charming for every girl out there is ridiculous!  Stop telling these lies to your daughter’s people!  It’s going to fuck them up in so many ways, especially if they are stupid and naive.  Which let’s face it some of them are, but for those of us who ultimately break the cult like haze of some of the things our parents tell us (mostly our mothers) about that illusive man called “Charming”, we will survive the lie.

Okay for the record not all parents tell their daughters that there is a Prince Charming and that he will ride up to their house, no matter where they live, on a white horse and whisk them away into eternal bliss.  Some parents are actually more critical and realistic, it’s just that mine weren’t, they were full of stupid fantasies about what or who their daughter would do and become.  I know what you’re thinking, how can she call her parents stupid?  Well I’m not, I’m saying that their ideas about the fact that I would marry a white guy name Prince Charming was stupid, it is unrealistic.

What makes this idea even more ludacris is that well, I’m Hispanic, I grew up in West Texas, and close to the border with Mexico (because no one really knows where El Paso is if you ask someone from East Texas).  And even then, I didn’t grow up in actual El Paso, I grew up in the rural part of El Paso County, about twenty miles or so to the east of downtown.  My parents resided in a small quaint rural town called San Elizario, okay so I have to embellish because it’s a small, rural Texas town full of predominately Mexican-American people where the one gas station was everyone’s gathering place. Also, at the time I was growing up there many people still had very strong roots to Mexico.  I, on the other hand did not, I was third generation born American.  Anyway, the idea that a white Prince Charming would ride into San Eli and take me away from rural town life was just stupid.

And for the record it didn’t turn out that way for many reasons, but mostly for the failure of my very Mexicanized parents lack of talking to their kids about things like stranger danger, how proud they were of you (if at all), gave positive reinforcement and especially not talking to their kids about the dangers of unprotected sex. I was a casualty of unprotected sex, a teenage Hispanic pregnancy statistic.  Because what I learned I had to learn either in school or from friends and we all will find out how that turned out.

I met my future ex-husband at one of my cousin’s birthday gatherings, God I should have run as far away as I could have.  But then my son wouldn’t have ever been born so, maybe not, in any case I got pregnant at fifteen, married at sixteen (because the bastard didn’t want to marry me).  No, it wasn’t a shotgun wedding nor did I force the him to marry me either.

When I was almost nine months pregnant and after many attempts to get him to understand that at the time I thought I loved him.  I gave up and had resolved to raise this baby on my own, the minute I stopped pursuing him or trying to convince him we should get married (yes, now I realize it was a stupid idea but I was still waiting for that fucking Charming guy to show up) he miraculously changed his mind.   After meeting his mother though, I should have run but that’s another story or maybe another book entirely.  In any case I married the father of my son and proceeded to have two more boys during the fourteen and a half years of marriage.

Not everything was as I thought it should have been, again at forty-eight years old that Prince Charming dude is still missing.  I divorced at twenty-nine years old, became a single mother to three of the most awesome (albeit sarcastically astute and lovable boys) and struggled to make it as a single mom.  No higher education at the time and naive in many ways I tried to navigate my way through life stumbling, no falling face first into the concrete I call life, that I believed maybe now that Charming guy would finally show up and rescue me, WRONG.  Stay tuned for part two……