Thanks to everyone who donated to Heidi! What a great birthday gift to ME! As a final push, if Heidi collects $3,000 - that's...oh damn, now I have to do math...anyway, if she gets to $3,000, I will videotape myself singing Chocolate Rain and post it here for your viewing pleasure!

Today is my birthday.

And I’m going to cut right to the chase here:

Today is my birthday, and I want a gift from you.

Yeah you.

No, not some shadowy-grammary, pluralized generalization of “you”. But "you", the flesh-and-blood, singularity "you".

You, yeah, you.

You right here and now reading this blog, inhaling and exhaling, shifting in your seat and chewing on your bottom lip, one foot crossways in your lap picking at that ingrown corner of toenail that’s been bugging you all day, thinking that you could really go for a tall glass of ice cold lime seltzer with a dash of angostura bitters.

Well, maybe the last part was me, not you.

But listen, today is my birthday and today I’m thirty-eleven years old.

That’s 41 in dog years.

Now initially for my 41st birthday, I wasn’t expecting anything all that special. Really, I wasn’t.

Turning forty-one is not like when you’re turning five and you know that you will wake up to yellow balloons and a princess party with all your family and friends, and presents, presents, presents, and a special banana cake with chocolate icing, and the world - which already spins around your tiny wonderfulness - will spin a mite faster just for you on your special day, and green is greener, and pink is pinker, and every pony prances just for you, and you can even possibly throw a tantrum or two even with tears and foot-stomping, and the grown-ups will let you get away with it scot free because it’s Your birthday! Your birthday! Your birthday!

The best day of all!

So much better than even Christmas because all the gifts on the dining room table have your name on them! Only yours! And all the attention is on You! You! You! And Baby Jesus and your older sister will both just have to sit on the sofa with grumpy faces if they can’t be happy that you got a brand new red bike AND a Spirograph AND five dollars from Great-Aunt Millicent because You’re Five! and you look so stinking adorable in your pink chiffon dress and baloney curls on your specialest of special days!

Hooray! Hooray for Five! Hooray!

Yes, I was entirely impossible as a child.

But today I am forty-one.

There is no big birthday party for forty-one.

Even forty, again, is a different story.

When some people turn forty, they might decide to organize a splendidly elegant fete or a frolicking poke-in-the-ribs roast in their own honor upon successfully navigating four decades of life on earth. When other people break Four-Oh, they mark the day by drinking a fifth of clear alcohol and then paging through their high school yearbook, slurring prank calls to the valedictorian and homecoming queen.

However, when I turned forty, I was unceremoniously denied the limelight’s sheen and rollicking-good embarrassment of both aforementioned options all because I got knocked-up, had major abdominal surgery, and instead spent my Big Day limping around the house leaking bodily fluids and challenging a gaseous newborn to a farting contest.

Okay, my kids did draw some lovely cards for me. And we did have a cake. (I think we had cake. I was so sleep deprived and high on Percocet, I may have hallucinated the cake part.)

And alright, I did Google a few old classmates - just for kicks, mind you, and not necessarily to compare and contrast and obsess over what I did or didn’t do with my own life so far, all while hunkered over a bowl of gin and olive stew. And while Googling, I found my ole buddinsky, Ralph Mohutsky, who is now an actor in LA and looks all swarthy and dangerous, which doesn’t at all jibe with my lasting image of him as a clean-cut, goofball kid who played the trumpet in marching band, but whose current success also didn’t threaten to spin me into mid-life crisis because - if nothing else - I have at least come to terms with the fact that I’ll just never be swarthy, no matter how many acting classes I take and no matter how many days I go without waxing my legs.


Today is my forty-first birthday.

And in honor of my forty-first birthday, I’m letting loose both my inner-child and my outer mid-life bitch and I’m asking for presents, gol dammit, presents!

No, I don’t need more hand lotion.

No, no, no, I don’t have time for a massage, and no I’m not going to fool myself that I’ll get out to dinner with my husband anytime in the next eighteen years.

Yes, I’d love a pair of knee-high brown suede boots, but no…well, okay, yeah…if you want to send me some knee-high brown suede boots, I won’t say no.

But what would really make a crabby old diva-princess like myself most happy on this, the most wonderful, splendiferous of all days, is the gift of cold hard cash.

Yeah, you heard right again.

I. Want. Money.


Loot. Moolah. Scratch.

In fives, tens and twenties, if you please.

Pile on the greenbacks and pile’em high.

For my forty-first birthday, I am shamelessly asking that you grab a hunk o’ bucks and mail them to...

this person here:

Heidi Dugan.

Okay, who the hell is Heidi Dugan.

Heidi Dugan is a gal pal of mine who is walking in some 3-Day Breast Cancer Walking Thingy where she is going to walk 60 miles over three days in order to raise money for the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund.

Heidi just sent me a letter - not a birthday card, mind you, but a letter - letting me know that she’s been training for this “amazing event” (although, not as amazing as my forty-first birthday, if anyone’s asking me) by walking, walking, walking, and Heidi says that so far, in training, she’s walked over 250 miles.

And yet, she couldn’t walk to the mailbox to send me some chocolate bars or something thoughtful for my forty-first birthday.

Oh, and it hasn’t just been this one letter, but a bunch of letters and emails all saying the same thing: “Look at me! I’m helping to raise money for breast cancer research! I’ve lost 33 pounds so far just by practicing walking! I’m not forty years old yet! Look at my gorgeous hair! Please sponsor me and make a tax deductible donation to help support breast cancer education, screening and treatment! Aren’t I adorable! Yadda-yada-yadda!”

It’s a pathetic vying for attention on MY birthday.

Well, I’m NOT having it!

I’m NOT sitting on the grumpy chair!

I’m forty-one! And although I may not be able to walk 250 miles or be all CUTE and YOUNG and NATURALLY SELFLESS and INDUSTRIOUS and whatEVAH….

…and okay, Heidi didn’t really say all that stuff about having gorgeous hair and being adorable and not being forty, BUT I BET SHE WAS THINKING IT, JUST TO MOCK ME ON MY FORTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY!



sniff sniff

So anyway - sniff - it would make me really happy on my forty-first birthday if everyone who reads my blog could just - sniff, sniff - you know, donate some money to Heidi in support of her walk, in honor of your loved ones who are surviving breast cancer, for the future of our daughters, and for a cure for this horrible disease.

But mostly donate money because it would make me happy on my forty-first birthday.

And that’s what’s really important.

Happy Birthday To Me…Happy Birthday To Me!…Happy Birthday Dear Meeeeeeee!…Happy Birthday To Me!

Click Here To Donate Online To Sponsor Heidi


Anonymous said...

Awwww, happy birthday, girl! I'd give all the cash I have, but I spent it all on baking stuff. Seriously.

Big hugs to you though!!!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

(Want me to send you a cupcake??)

Vinegar Martini said...


Go get yourself a pinata and whack the beejeezus out of that thing!


S said...

Happy Birthday, lady.
I'll check out the link you provided.

S said...

Oh, and 2 other things:

(1) Your coat is rockin'.
(2) Thanks for giving me an agenda for my 40th birthday (in 2 months, sob). I had no idea what I was supposed to do for and on it, and now you've given me a handy-dandy guide! Yay you!

Gwen said...

Happy Birthday! You don't look a day over 29, really. And baloney curls? I think I saw a seven year old in them today; maybe it was her birthday. I hope so anyway; otherwise, what was she thinking?

(Hi! I'm a cyberfriend of Julie's. You know Julie, right? Everyone knows Julie, artful flower and ravin' picture maven that she is.)

Unknown said...

Josette, you're the best Really, truly!

Happy, happy, happy birthday and thank you so much for the blog shout-out.

(and thanks to those of you who have already donated to me because of it!)

Charlotte's Mom said...

Happy Birthday, indeed!!

If I hadn't already sponsored 2 of my own gal pals for the Chicago Avon Walk, I'd sign right up.

As a baby, I was so determined not to compete with Baby Jesus (I was due on 12/25) that I made sure to be born 3 weeks early and to a Jewish family. I still get combined Hanukah/birthday gifts. But, at least my friends don't ask me for mony on my birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

steph said...

happy birthday to you!!!

i think that is a lovely present to ask for yourself!! i hope you had an awesome day!

Fairly Odd Mother said...

I will be thirty-eleven next year and just love saying 'thirty eleven'. So much better than 41.

Happy Birthday to you!!!!! And, yes, you can even still throw a temper tantrum on your birthday.

Debbie said...

I want to BURY you in a bevy of beautiful birthday bliss. (couldn't think of a word that means "gift" that starts with b, and I'll be damned if I was gonna blow that lovely, uh, assonance thingy I had going in the first sentence.)

instead, I'll dig up your address from my yahoo inbox from about a million years hence when you last gave it to me, shouldn't be any problem, really, unless you'd like to save me the hours of sifting through the yahoo-fabulous search and maybe just resend it to me at lildbsnack at yahoo, and then I can, um, what? it's a birthday surprise, okay? ever heard of it? yeah. stop looking at me like I'm gonna tell you what I'm sending you.

and yes, yes ma'am on the Heidi-donation front.

happy birthday, sweetie. and make sure to stir your bowl of martini occasionally. I find that the good part settles when I'm drinking the punch bowl version.

Mom101 said...

You are a good friend. (And me - maybe a not so good friend for missing this post this week. Maybe a B- kind of a friend.)

Hope you had a fabulous birthday and even got a bit of banana cake.

anne said...

So, if you look at the picture of you in the coat, and then scroll down to the previous post and look at the picture of Madeline, the only difference I see is the wardrobe...and lack of smile.
I still can't get over how much she looks like you.

Anonymous said...

Happy, last month!

My birthday is coming up soon, too. And do you know what I would like? I would like for *you* to write my fundraising post for the American Liver Foundation walk. Because this one is untoppable.

stapeliad said...

Happy Birthday.

My toddler ate all my cash. Then she pooped in the rest of it.

I loved spirograph!!!!

Anonymous said...

Happy Birthday. I an usually slow to take out the wallet but that picture of you is so terrifying I was unable to resist.

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