I know it might come as a huge surprise that I was born of two humans rather than hatched from an egg forged by the fire of dragons high on a mountaintop inhabited only by viking lightning ninjas, four days after the summer solstice, just when the world was least expecting it. But being born on June 25th is statistically the best birthday I could have; it is precisely six months before or after Christmas and results in the most balanced ratio of presents throughout the year. Matt thinks that it could mean that maybe I’m the antichrist, and that’s a valid point, but I can promise you that I’m not that evil. But be wary of other babies born on June 25th…you never know.

The Birthday Commandments:

Birthday Cake.

I shalt have a pink champagne cake! I know this is very 1985 of me, but there are a lot of things that are very 1985 about me. I may not always blow out candles, but when I do there seem to be a lot more of them lately.

Birthday Sex.

I believe that when it’s your birthday that you can have birthday sex wherever, whenever, however you want, and your partner—understanding that the agreement is reciprocal—must accommodate you. Birthday sex can sometimes feel like a lot of pressure, like you need to come up with something fruity or outrageous, but relax. Don’t plan any math competitions for the day and you’ll be just fine.

Birthday Presents.

I’m not gonna lie, I love birthday presents. I also love birthday phone calls, text messages, facebook posts, birthday cards, anything that comes from someone else that says, “Hey! I’m glad you were born!” I think feeling special on my birthday reconnects me with my inner child, the one who used to spontaneously conjure moments of consciousness, and imagine the depths of her own uniqueness, and marvel at the mystery of what made me so very me. There is something delightful about channeling your childhood, even if it means you have to admit that you’re kinda greedy about presents.

My favorite birthday presents have been cursive typewriters for my collection. When I was a little girl, I used to imagine that I’d move away from my hillbilly hamlet into the big city. I’d own a fancy typewriter and live in an apartment and have gentleman callers (thanks Truman Capote!) and fabulous parties. Now I collect cursive typewriters to remind me that I was a little girl with brazen dreams once.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

We partnered up with the Derelict Voice writing group to put on a writing contest and we have chosen our winners! This is a project that I’ve been dying to kick off, and I hope that it’s just the first of many. Congratulations to the winners, thank you so much for participating!

Sara makes the words happen.