The Twenty-Eighth Tuesday: We Talk About Birthdays

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to!

I will admit it. I have never really enjoyed celebrating my own birthday. Other people’s birthdays? Let’s party! Mine? Not so much.

I’m not sure what the reason is. It’s not like I had a traumatic experience as a kid with a scary clown at a birthday party, or that I have PTSD every time the waiters at a restaurant come out clapping with a chocolate lava cake. Now I really want chocolate lava cake, ugh. I guess I just kinda thought, what makes this day different than any other day? After all, you share your birthday with 19, 178, 802 other people. Approximately.

Get you someone who stares at you the way I stare at chocolate cake

I’ve had great birthdays, don’t get me wrong. Although one time someone put my ice cream cake in the fridge by accident, so when it was time to cut the cake, we were actually serving ice cream cake soup with a ladle. But I guess last year made up for it when my brother walked into the house with a cake, took one look at me and said “you asked for chocolate cake with vanilla icing, didn’t you.” And then slowly backed out the door to go get me the right cake. So last year, I had two cakes! And don’t think I didn’t appreciate my sick Build-A-Bear workshop birthday party in third grade. I’ve just been kinda bleh about birthdays.

Went paint balling on my 19th birthday because nothing says happy birthday like being pelted with what feels like rocks

The year I turned 21, my dad passed away. So I vouched that “22 won’t be so bad.” Like, that was actually my instagram caption.

I didn’t lie about the Instragram caption

And with my twenty-second birthday actually being one of the best days of my life, I had a feeling the year wouldn’t be so bad after all. Well, my twenty second year of life ended up being pretty dang weird!

On Dancing With the Stars (yes I watch this, but there’s nothing else on on Monday’s), week four’s theme was “Most Memorable Year.” I would have to say that if I was going to ballroom dance to one year of my life thus far, it would def be twenty two.

I would salsa dance about graduating college, passing my NCLEX and landing my first job. But then I would slow it down with a little waltz and dramatic arm movements for my diagnosis and months of chemo. Then I would add some major acrobatics in a hip hop routine with a little bit of tap dancing while holding sparklers to commemorate the end of chemo and my clear scan results. I would also change my outfit four times throughout my two minute dance.

If 23 is called your Jordan year (bc Michael Jordan is so dope), then 22 should be called the Katie year (bc I am also so dope). This year taught me why we celebrate birthdays. In 365 days (thank god it wasn’t a leap year AM I RIGHT), we go through a lot of shiiiiit. Some days are good, some are meh, and some are just straight up hideous. We bust our butts to rotate around the sun for another year, so we deserve to celebrate making it to the finish line. We deserve a day that’s just about us (and the other 19 million people that we share our special day with)!

I’m going to celebrate turning 23 because I’m able to. Because I worked really fricken hard to eat my damn birthday cake this year. Gimme allllll the cake!

I’ve got a new lease on life, baby, so 23 won’t be so bad 😉.

1 of the 2 birthday cakes I had last year!

My dad’s birthday is April 17th so we got to celebrate our birthday month together

Who wants a drink on their 21st when you can have a hot dog cake?

If you guys haven’t seen, take a look at this article that Refinery29 wrote about me!! It’s pretty cool. Maybe this is my one-way ticket to getting on Dancing With the Stars. But probably not.

Also, everyone should subscribe to the blog so that way you can get it right to your email and I don’t need to post about it on Facebook until I stop writing. Whenever that is. hehehehehe

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