2002.09.15 30th Birthday
Some of you have been wondering about my birthday.
Well, you see, it's like this...
Traditionally, my birthdays are spent alone. It isn't necessary, exactly, but circumstance and the timing of my birthday usually meant that I was in a new place, where I didn't know anybody. Co-op terms every other 4-month semester, combined with my anti-social nature, usually made my birthdays solitary days that I used for reflection and strategic planning. A sort of bittersweet semi-tradition.
As I alluded, there are exceptions. Friends have occasionally intervened to gather others to celebrate my birthday. This past 30th birthday was one of those exceptions.
To start off, the entire idea of being 30 years old seems quite odd to me. Just for finesse, it landed on Friday the 13th this year. More ominous still, my two co-inhabitants of The Asylum, Bubbles and Princess Mira, found out about it in advance. This, then, becomes a tale of their evil doing.
First thing, I hear my roommates up and about much too early in the morning. Fearing the worst, I cower under my sheets and hope they are too afraid to come into my room (they're quite squeamish about catching me nude). No such luck. They burst into my room squealing "HAPPY BIRTHDAY CLAYTON!!!".
Dubiously, I peered out from under the covers. The three of them (for Prince Ken was there as well) were looking quite pleased with themselves, and wheeling a black chair into the room. In my groggy but defensive state, I mistook the chair as the one from Mira's room, and half expected them to be carrying duct tape and twine. One of them asked "How do you like it?", and I think I bared my fangs and snarled at them while looking to see if they were concealing cans of silly string. "It's made in Canada..." one of them offered, and that was about the moment that I noticed the bow on the chair. I thanked them profusely, as much as my startled and sleepy vocabulary could manage. They then disappeared with a flourish, leaving me to my pleased bewilderment.
I should take this moment to point at that, even for girls, my roommates are quite skilled at making me happy but confused. For a while I was considering a theory where the entire race of girl-kind chose their two most charming and confusing members, and sent them on a mission to be my roomies. I eventually gave up on the theory, thinking that it would involve girls thinking about me much more than is at all likely.
So I clean myself up, and go to work. After the early surprise gift, I was of the opinion that the girls had done their bit, and I was free to have a quiet day at work before the dinner they had planned for me. As soon as I step in the door, I sense that something is amiss. One of the office clerks looks at me with a poorly-repressed smirk and a knowing twinkle in her eye. Even from the corner of the building I enter from, the flotilla of balloons marking my cubicle is blatantly obvious. With a wince, I soldier on to my desk to see just how bad it is. It was pretty bad. There's so much contained helium attached to my desk, it's at risk of taking flight. As a cherry on the effect, there's a not-very-flattering image of me pasted onto one of the walls.
I sorted out some waiting correspondance as I plotted my revenge, then headed to the cafeteria to gather some breakfast. On my way there I spotted another poster of me, this time saying "Today's my 30th Birthday!" and my desk phone number. I grit my teeth and took it good-naturedly. Another couple steps, and there's an entirely new imbarrassing photo of me, and my phone number again.
After the expected teasing in the cafeteria, I slunk back to my desk to try to hide. That's about when I noticed that one of the aforementioned roommates had e-mailed pretty much the entire company, instructing them all to wish me a "happy birthday". For the sake of simplicity, let me just say that I was busy the whole day with phone calls and e-mail - very little of it work-related. I was astounded at the number of people that strolled up to my desk saying "YOU HAD HAIR!"
A couple hours into the day, and I got a phone call from the front desk. I had a "delivery". I stomped upstairs, found a bunch more of the posters along the way, and went to the main lobby. Sitting there was a very pretty vase full of bright pink flowers. The receptionist asked me, "Is it your birthday?" I looked at her, turned my head to look at one of the mugshot posters pasted right beside me, and told her "no" in a deadpan voice. I then returned to my desk, inconveniently at the opposite end of the building, carrying the girly pile of plant sexual organs and trying to ignore all the giggling that eruped around me as I went.
For lunch, my roommates fetched me over to the main corporate headquarters building - where there are many more people. It wouldn't have been so bad, except for the large helium balloon they tied to my wrist, and made me wear through the middle of the corporate cafeteria...
Unusual for me, I left work on time, and headed out to go to the planned dinner. It was at a very nice restaurant, and it was quite nice to see so many friends and acquaintances resident in Portland present to share my birthday with me.
Fun was had by all, with one entertaining exception being where Dooog (you can just see him over my shoulder in the reflection) decided that I should drink tequila. In 30 years I had never tasted it, and after tasting 1 shot of it, and barfing up my filet mignon, I decided that I could quite happily go considerably longer before tasting it again. Thanks Doog; I'll get even with you too.
Wound the evening up by going dancing with Princess Mira, along with Prince Ken and Dan-Yel the crazy Quebeccer. Something about many beautiful young girls being naughty made me feel rather young myself.
When I eventually got up the next day, I went and spent my savings on toys. As much as I tried to spoil myself, and I think I made a valiant super-kilobuck effort, I still like the chair the best. Bubbles and Princess Mira: THANK-YOU VERY MUCH. I love you both.
As a general answer to the often-asked question, "How does it feel to be 30?" - I offer the following:
PRETTY DAMN GOOD.
Those that know me really well have heard me say that I think I actually became sentient when I was 12 years old. Since then, I consider myself the same person - just with additional knowledge and experience grafted on. Thus, to me, 30 feels just like 12 - but with 18 years of practice. My closes friends should be nodding at this point, as I've used this description often in the past (with the appropriate number of years of experience to correspond with the current age at the time, of course).
I suppose that realistically, this may well be the peak of my life in many regards. When I was half as old, I used to fantasize about taking on the world some day. Now, I feel as though I could, if I so chose.