Birthday Bashing with a Side-Order of Hate
Some of you were born at exactly the right time (
Well that might be something you might want to bring up with Karma or Science, but whatever rolls your biscuit.
As young as I am, I have already lived through my suckiest birthday. It was the last Friday in March of 2002, the beginning of spring break during my 8th grade year. It wasn’t the first time I had been sick on my birthday, but this black letter day was different. I was so sick; I was curled into the fetal position from pain. Earlier on that very same day, my dream-crushing doctor had told me of the impending surgery I had to have during the first week of summer vacation due to kidney stones. Who the fuck ever heard of a tiny little 14-year-old girl with kidney stones? That’s an old person’s ailment, not the grievance of a teenager. As an added little bonus to my birthday from Hell, the surgery took place five days before I was to stand in front of my church and go through my confirmation ceremony. Not only did I sleep during church that day, I was also under the influence of Vicodin, and I’m pretty the G-man was okay with it.
Like anything else in life, this suck-fest has an up side. I was finally able to get out of youth league softball. This was a very happy moment because I hated the pussification of baseball and everything it stood for. Nothing is like the unbridled rage of a skinny, little, white girl with glasses taking it out on her uniform that “supports the tyrannical sexism of sports.”
Sincerely,
Roxy
Labels: birthdays, made up words, unreasonable hatred







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