My birthday is on Wednesday. I don't know though. Everything feels fractured this year. It's like, usually, I'm all up for my birthday, but this year, I don't even care. I'm like, "Well, yeah. I'll be nineteen. How fun." And since I've been saying I was nineteen for the last couple weeks, I won't even get the pleasure of a new age to tell people. Which kind of takes the fun out of a birthday. At least my birthday. Let me explain.

I was born at 10:10 am on December 18, 1983. This date falls exactly one week before Christmas every year. Do you know what's on people's minds one week before Christmas? Well, let me give you a hint: It's not, "Hey, Rachel's turning nineteen today. Let's go spend some time with and/or money on her." Usually it's something about how much they hate Christmas and how much it sucks having to shell out all this money on gifts for people they don't even really like, blah, blah, blah. Therefore, I get completely screwed.

And it's not like I'm saying people need to give me a million dollars or anything. But let me tell you something. My friend Tish told me, "I already got your birthday present and let me tell you upfront, you got screwed." Hmm. Well, okay. If she knows that, then can't you do something nice for me to make up for it.

But T.T. was cool. Today, she slyly asked me if I liked chocolate or vanilla better. After asking Kristen the same exact thing before she made her a birthday cake. Gee, I wonder what the point of that question is? And my mom was going to make a cake for me and Brian's mom wants to have a mini-party for me. So I don't feel totally left out. It's just that everyone's so caught up in Christmas, that they don't give a shit that it's my birthday. Damn Jesus. Always stealing my thunder.

Oh well. I'm planning my own birthday party. And let me tell you. That will steal ALL of Jesus's thunder. I rule.