voluptuary vuh-LUHP-choo-er-ee, noun:
A person devoted to luxury and the gratification of sensual appetites; a sensualist.
Voluptuary derives from Latin voluptarius, "devoted to pleasure," from voluptas, "pleasure."
Because I am a voluptuary (though perhaps not quite voluptuous), my birthday is going to be a delight of hedonism and rejoicing.
I use the week before and after this actual date as a means for getting free stuff and attention. This morning I even got my Friday Morning Mocha Treat from the Someday Cafe gratís. My birthday is the only day of the year I feel not only comfortable with, but entitled to, being the center of attention. So bring it on.
It's kind of funny how I came into this world. My poor mother... this is so typical of me: I tortured her for nine months kicking the crap out of her from inside, and then when it was time to go into action I pulled a shy move and refused to show my face. I was actually stillborn. Cool, huh?
She was in labor for 30 some odd hours, and I've heard the story of the little Asian doctor that faithfully coached her, the 100 pound man straddling her on the table and slapping her around. When they finally coaxed me out, I had hung myself with my umbilical cord.
Dramatic foreshadowing? Heh heh.
"Just Walk Away Renée" by the Four Tops was playing on the radio when my mother was finally free of me, and that became my middle name. I actually only weighed six pounds when I was born, which probably explains why I grew four feet my first year. Had to make up for lost time.
I have been reflecting on the past year and birthdays past for the last few days. I can tell you it's been one amazing crash course in life -- I am not the same person I was on this day last year. And that's a beautiful thing. I feel like I've grown about 12 years instead of 12 months. At the same time, I feel younger than I did last year. I think I've recaptured some of my curiosity and innocence.
But there's certain things you never get back.
On the subject of birthdays past, there are a few that stand out. In preparation for my 16th birthday, I bought a Ford Escort for $500 and had it insured and ready to go. Because I was only 15, I couldn't drive without a licensed driver in the car, but I drove it up and down the driveway and waxed it and made mix tapes to play in it while I just sat in the my-carness of it. My dad started teaching me to drive when I was 15, in the middle of downtown New Haven, in a standard transmission telephone company utility truck. In the tradition of survival of the fittest, I picked up the driving thing pretty quick. So 30 days after my 16th birthday, in compliance with state standards, I got my driver's license.
The next big birthday was 17, and my father decided to get me back for all the damage I did to his clutch by ordering 17 red helium balloons to be delivered to the High School for me. And I had to carry them around all day. He has all these pictures of me getting off the school bus surrounded by a cloud of balloons, my face as red as them with embarrassment. I don't think I ever got over that one.
I celebrated my 21st birthday with two of my closest friends at the time. We left Boston for New Haven and drank pink champagne on the Connecticut Shoreline in the freezing cold because it was my birthday, dammit. When I bought the champagne, I was like, "Aren't you going to card me??!!" And the guy said, "You've been buying here for years."
Last year I had my favorite Bread, Fruit and Cheese Plate at the Other Side Cosmic Cafe with Ruby and a significant other, et.al. It was anticlimactic and I probably went home and cried. Somewhere in between, my parents bought me a car. I don't remember what year it was (18?), but I remember walking home from work (the Escort had a short lifespan) 8 miles in the snow, and the batteries on my walkman had died, and I was pissed at the world. I opened the garage door and they had a shiny red car for me, with streamers and balloons on it. It was another old used Escort (we are a Ford family), but my dad had waxed it to perfection, hung a peach tree air freshener, and put two hot cups of coffee in the cupholder so we could take it for a spin.
My dad wins, by the way.
I celebrated 22 in New Orleans, and I don't remember.
So this year is going to be good. I'm looking forward to spending time with Good Friends, and really digging them. It was my bunny's birthday on Valentine's Day, so we might share a carrot cake. Oooh! And I almost forgot. I have to call my secret agent loverman John in the Morning at KEXP right now and request Sugar Cubes.
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