Status: accepting authors
Painted Scenes
Febuary 9
Originally, I was going to be born on Valentine’s day, since my mom knew early on that she was going to have to get a C-section and could pick her due date. I’m not sure why my parents had once thought this to be a good idea, but it had been on the table. Luckily, they decided on a slightly earlier date, the 9th of February. I’m still born in what I call “the month of love” but it’s a lot better than being born on a commercial holiday that card companies created to get more money.
February, which in some parts of New Mexico, where I was born, is very snowy and cold. February is a winter month, and not particularly the most favorable month in which to have a birthday. I could never be one of those kids who had a pool party for their birthday, unless it was indoor and at a hotel. The only thing I could do was hope for more snow. Now, however, I more of hope that people remember it’s my birthday without the assistance of Facebook and that it doesn’t rain. I moved from New Mexico to the state of Washington like nine years ago, and I now live in the mostly rainy town of Friday Harbor.
How my birthdays go is decided upon two things: 1) My behavior, and 2) Who I invite to go to my birthday celebrations. For basically the first like 6 years of my life, I basically ruined my own birthday by acting like that loud, screaming toddler that no one likes. I’m not particularly sure why I did this, since I was still very young, and logic wasn’t exactly my highest priority. My 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th birthdays weren’t that bad, or at least I don’t think they were, I don’t remember them much.
And then we get to my 11th birthday. This is when the trend of bad things started happening. For one, I didn’t get my letter from Hogwarts, which was very disappointing. Then it was the first year, in a long time, that I actually had a birthday party. It was a sleepover with a bunch of girls who I thought were my friends. It started out good, but progressively got worse when one of my friends locked herself in the bathroom and had a pity party about how she thought she wasn’t pretty.
I abandoned the birthday party idea for my 12th birthday, and decided that I would just take one person off island with me to go shopping. This worked out okay, until she accused me of stealing her iPod.
The my 13th birthday came around, and I had the choice between taking someone to The Lion King at the 5th Avenue theater or go ice skating at a mall in Portland. When my best friend at the time didn’t seem interested in the theater idea, we went to the mall. We didn’t go ice skating, and my friend basically took over my birthday.
When it came time for me to turn 14, I didn’t want to invite anybody, and went with the family only option. I invited my aunt to go see South Pacific. Naturally, things didn’t go as planned, and my aunt bailed on me, then tried to buy me with a necklace. Other than that, it went well, and I got to ride a carousel and got to eat at a high class sea food restaurant; both things I never really get to do.
Here we are at last year, my 15th birthday. By this point, I didn’t really care too much that it was my birthday. My priorities at this point was getting a sex Ed class set up at my school. I go to a private school, where we don’t exactly get all of the required state classes every year. It had been like two years since there was a class about the act in which babies are made, and I was going to do something about it. Then one day in late January, my English teacher announced that we would be having sex Ed in a few weeks, on the 9th of February.
So, I got to have to lovely privilege of having sex Ed on my birthday.
Other than that, I didn’t have a bad birthday, I had an awkward one instead.
February, which in some parts of New Mexico, where I was born, is very snowy and cold. February is a winter month, and not particularly the most favorable month in which to have a birthday. I could never be one of those kids who had a pool party for their birthday, unless it was indoor and at a hotel. The only thing I could do was hope for more snow. Now, however, I more of hope that people remember it’s my birthday without the assistance of Facebook and that it doesn’t rain. I moved from New Mexico to the state of Washington like nine years ago, and I now live in the mostly rainy town of Friday Harbor.
How my birthdays go is decided upon two things: 1) My behavior, and 2) Who I invite to go to my birthday celebrations. For basically the first like 6 years of my life, I basically ruined my own birthday by acting like that loud, screaming toddler that no one likes. I’m not particularly sure why I did this, since I was still very young, and logic wasn’t exactly my highest priority. My 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th birthdays weren’t that bad, or at least I don’t think they were, I don’t remember them much.
And then we get to my 11th birthday. This is when the trend of bad things started happening. For one, I didn’t get my letter from Hogwarts, which was very disappointing. Then it was the first year, in a long time, that I actually had a birthday party. It was a sleepover with a bunch of girls who I thought were my friends. It started out good, but progressively got worse when one of my friends locked herself in the bathroom and had a pity party about how she thought she wasn’t pretty.
I abandoned the birthday party idea for my 12th birthday, and decided that I would just take one person off island with me to go shopping. This worked out okay, until she accused me of stealing her iPod.
The my 13th birthday came around, and I had the choice between taking someone to The Lion King at the 5th Avenue theater or go ice skating at a mall in Portland. When my best friend at the time didn’t seem interested in the theater idea, we went to the mall. We didn’t go ice skating, and my friend basically took over my birthday.
When it came time for me to turn 14, I didn’t want to invite anybody, and went with the family only option. I invited my aunt to go see South Pacific. Naturally, things didn’t go as planned, and my aunt bailed on me, then tried to buy me with a necklace. Other than that, it went well, and I got to ride a carousel and got to eat at a high class sea food restaurant; both things I never really get to do.
Here we are at last year, my 15th birthday. By this point, I didn’t really care too much that it was my birthday. My priorities at this point was getting a sex Ed class set up at my school. I go to a private school, where we don’t exactly get all of the required state classes every year. It had been like two years since there was a class about the act in which babies are made, and I was going to do something about it. Then one day in late January, my English teacher announced that we would be having sex Ed in a few weeks, on the 9th of February.
So, I got to have to lovely privilege of having sex Ed on my birthday.
Other than that, I didn’t have a bad birthday, I had an awkward one instead.