June 12th, 1997 7:21am

At that minute on this day I was born. Crazy isn’t it. How 19 years ago I was merely a crying, pooping, and eating small ball of human and now, 19 years later, I am a crying, pooping, and eating large human.

Birthdays to me are the weirdest thing. Why do we celebrate them? For so many people, June 12th is only National Peanut Butter Cookie Day, but for those I know, and others with this birthday it is a day to celebrate our birth.

Why do we celebrate birthdays? Like it’s just one more orbit around the sun I’ve had. One more school year, one year closer to becoming an adult, one year closer to death. For the longest time I haven’t really found the need for birthdays. And celebrating them. I mean, yeah it’s nice when friends from high school send you a quick text or something to show they were thinking of you, but does it really matter? What about the 100 people that post on your facebook wall? Do some of them care about you? Yeah of course all of my aunts and uncles who can’t work phones but can navigate facebook do. But does that girl who sat across from me in Spanish freshman year?

Is your worth and how many people care about you determined by how many people wish you a happy birthday?

Sometimes people forget. Like I forgot to text one of my best friends on his birthday this year. I haven’t been using my phone that much this summer and work has been absolutely killing me so I forgot. But at the end of the day, I still care about him 365 days of the year and one measly birthday text I didn’t send won’t change that. There are some people I’m close with who didn’t text me happy birthday. Could be for a number of reasons. They forgot, they don’t know my birthday, or whatever it may be.

Do we celebrate them for the gifts? When I was younger we had birthday parties and got tons of gifts. Now, that I’m 19 I really just want some sleep, an edible arrangement, and some new leggings. I’m not that hard to please.

Why do people have to have one special day? Why can’t we cherish and praise everyone year round. We should always let people know they are special and loved and needed, and not just shoot them a text on their birthday reminding them of this.I think everyday should be a celebration of everyone. You’re alive? Great. You’re breathing? Amazing. When we give people special days all to themselves either they shoot up their expectations too high and don’t get what they wanted or we get the show My ultimate Sweet 16 party or whatever it’s called.

Sorry, rant over. Also, I’m 19 how weird is that. Last year of being a teen and one year until I beat the teen pregnancy stereotype. Holla.



Lucky Day

And no, I’m not referring to the seahorse that was supposed to win big in the 2004 hit movie Shark Tale, but I’m talking about St. Patrick’s Day.

Hi all, As I’m assuming all of you know, today is Saint Patrick’s Day. And although my Irish ancestors have cursed me with ivory skin that burns within the first 5 seconds of walking outdoors. However, they did give me a few good genes. Some of those being a love for potatoes (although I’m not quite sure who doesn’t love potatoes so…) and myself and all of my other pale skinned Irish friends have our own day to party and wear green, and pretend we’re leprechauns.

Today, I didn’t manage to leave my bed until 2:17pm, probably not due to the fact that I had no classes today, but the fact that looking outside I didn’t anyone donning green attire with face paint and stupid beads. I didn’t see people with ‘Kiss me I’m Irish” or “Kiss me I’m (pretending to be) Irish” shirts. It was a sight unlike any I’ve ever seen on this holiday.

Back home, St. Patrick’s Day is an enormous deal. The festivities begin the weekend before, as everyone and their mother heads downtown to see the Chicago River being dyed green, followed by a parade, and other events scattered across the city. For the entire week leading up to St. Patrick’s Day, everyone wears some sort of green to school (even my college friends who go to school in Chicago can attest to this statement and the ones to follow) so it not merely us high school folk) in preparation for the grand day.

When St. Patrick’s Day finally arrives, everyone goes all out. Kids show up to school decked out in festive shirts, green pants, shamrock socks and earrings, and of course not forgetting as many green beads that can fit around their necks. Some even dye their hair green for the day or sport green eye shadow, those who do are truly spirited and I give them high praises. Our school is always a sea of green and everyone, whether they are Irish or not, is Irish for the day and stoked about it.

After school, my friends and family head to a bar where my mom grew up where we are fed, and after food, music is played and Irish dancers litter the floor of the bar. They go on for hours until we finally make our way back to my grandma’s house for some of her famous corned beef and cabbage (obviously as a vegan I won’t be eating the corned beef but I do eat cabbage and potatoes).

The day is full of fun, laughter, joy, and just love for the Irish.  I guess California didn’t get the memo about how great of a country Ireland is. So, alas, I will go back to eating potatoes in my dorm and subtly cheering on one of my favorite holidays (aka wearing olive-green shirt, green bracelets, and using my minty green mouthwash).

Until Sunday