I’ve been here for awhile, and I think that I’ve grown in touch with my coonass side.
I’ve been to Houma Mardi Gras, I’ve caught crabs and I’ve even been fishin’ on the Intracoastal.
But what the hell is a “golden” birthday?
Maybe I just haven’t been around as long, or maybe I’m not quite cool enough to hear the official terminology, but I never knew about freakin’ “golden” birthdays until this year.
My girlfriend and roomie is turning 25 on the 25th — hence all the “golden” birthday stuff.
We’re throwing a party and all, but I feel like I’ve let all my other friends’ “non-golden” birthdays fall by the wayside.
Like, the first birthday’s the “paper” birthday, according to ancient tradition of the Wannabiteme tribe.
The ancient tradition dictates one should buy a card, give money or buy concert tickets on the first birthday.
(OK, maybe I’m thinking of anniversaries, but birthdays are close to the same thing.)
The second birthday / anniversary celebration thingy is marked with a gift of some sort of cheap metal.
I think it’s aluminum.
I. e. — On the second birthday / anniversary, one should receive deodorant, bad kitchenware or Coke cans.
Each “whatever it is” gift gets progressively better — from aluminum, to copper, to nickel, to silver-plated, to gold-spray-painted, etc. — until one finally hits the “golden” celebration.
Apparently, the term “golden” birthday simply denotes that we’re all supposed to make the party rock and bring a cool gift.
Maybe I never heard of my own “golden” birthday because I was six when it occurred.
I do remember a rockin’ party when I was six, though. I had a sleepover with a pink strawberry cake, and all my friends exchanged Garbage Pail Kids trading cards.
Personally, I never had any Garbage Pail Kids cards because my mom thought they were nasty.
They featured infants with severed limbs and babies in blenders and stuff.
OK, maybe she was right to think they were gross, but look at me now.
If I had the disturbing toys as a child, maybe I wouldn’t be such a freak now.
Now I go home, and my folks give me money just to not write about them.
I don’t see any of the other people at my “golden” party being bribed not to do what they enjoy.
If I had just had those damn Garbage Pail Kids …
I could have been a dancer in New York, an activist in Boston, a lawyer in L.A. or at least a bus driver in Chicago by now — just like the rest of those kids.
Oh well, I’ll do my best to ensure that my girlfriend’s “golden” birthday this weekend is way cooler than mine was.
I’m getting her some Garbage Pail Kids cards to trade.