My birthday is the first day of spring, and lately it's been anything but birds singing in trees in nearby Central Park.
I hadn't planned on celebrating my birthday this year beyond taking day or overnight trip on Metro North outside Manhattan. I'd take my laptop and notebook, and return with a new short story inspired by yet another viewing of The Wonder Boys on DVD.
I'd asked a friend to celebrate with me, but he gave some lame ass excuse about not wanting to clean up afterwards (his birthday is two days before mine). In years past, four or five friends celebrated together at my apartment. One of the celebrants would always buy a cake from Veniero's Bakery in the East Village.
Those days are gone. No more group parties with multiple Pisceans gathered around a birthday cake serenading each other. With the exception of one of the previous participants, everyone has disappeared or moved out of New York or New Jersey.
I don't like planning parties because (some) people will undoubtedly flake at the last minute and not show up. Your dog did what, where? Your boyfriend is on the ledge, again? Oh, you decided to travel by mule from New Jersey at 10 p.m., and he collapsed?
As a child, I always had built-in attendees with my family, friends from school, and neighborhood kids. Mother would always bake a sheet cake and make a lime sherbert and 7-Up frothy drink.
I'm crossing my fingers and toes for my small birthday/St. Patrick's weekend party downtown at a friend's apartment.