I’m not that huge on my own birthday. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy barking orders at Grey all day long and saying things like, “Celebrate me, damnit!” when my birthday rolls around, but, especially ever since I had Ollie, 8-28 isn’t that big of a deal. Not that it ever was a huge extravaganza; I’ve always gotten way more excited about days like Halloween and Thanksgiving than my own date of birth. (What’s better than costumes or eating massive amounts of stuffing? Cake? I think not).
I think my lack of birthday enthusiasm has something to do with the fact that I never truly like being the center of attention. Yes, I like people paying attention to me, but up to a point. Even on my wedding day, the thought of having everyone’s eyes directly on me made me want to barf on myself (hence all the valium and champagne and then my inevitable inability to recall anything past 11AM). So having people just sit around and party because it is the day I came into existence? That just makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.
That’s part of why I’ve always been fascinated by who else shares my birthday. One of my best friends from Erie, Sarah, was born on August 28th too and we always had fun co-celebrating. Plus, as a pre-teen, the fact that Jason Priestly of the mega-hit Beverly Hills 90210 was popped out of his mother’s womb on the same day as me, well, that was pretty much incomprehensibly cool. I took it to mean that Brandon Walsh and I were soul mates. So even though my parents didn’t let me watch 90210 because they thought there was too much teen sex, I’d secretly catch every episode telling them I was watching Growing Pain reruns.
So happy birthday, to Mr. Jason Priestley. No clue what you’re doing now, but here’s to our day!