I was born on October 12th, 1985. Tomorrow I wil be 28 years of age. WoopdeePOOP! You don’t want to read too much into a birthday, because it’s not a universally great occasion. I mean, here’s a short list of people who have had birthdays:
The bald dude from Sex and the City and Californication
My buddy, Chris “The Sauce” Bubeck
I think you get what I’m saying. The truth is that I’ve always wished that instead of celebrating birthdays, we should celebrate the day where an individual does the thing they’re most proud of in their lives, and with all due respect to the birthing process, my crowning achievement wasn’t as a passenger on the bowel movement super highway. Life is worth celebrating, but being alive is not.
I’m going to call it a lifeday. It’s the time you took agency of who you were, stood up to the world and said, “Look at me. I’m worth a damn.” For example, Derek Jeter can choose any of his World Champions moments or bedding Minka Kelly in her prime. His call.
The Sauce’s victories aren’t quite as prestigious, but he’s peed off of some pretty tall objects, so I’m sure he’s got a good lifeday to pick. And Hitler, well, killers probably shouldn’t be awarded lifedays. And since we’re not admiring birthdays anymore, let’s just wipe him from any days that have even a slight positive connotation.
From now on, let’s use birthdays to evaluate our lifedays. That’s how ol’ Dust will be celebrating his birthday tomorrow. Trying to pick my preferred defining moment, circling that day on my calendar, and then trying to beat that achievement by time that date rolls around again.
Plus, how much more fun are lifeday parties than birthdays. I can already picture my celebration. “WE NEED SOME SHOTS! TEN YEARS AGO THIS CRAZY MOFO JUMPED NAKED OFF A CLIFF AT THE LAKE OF THE OZARKS! THAT’S LIVING!”
Oh, what? Like you’re some kind of hero?
Turning 28 tomorrow,
Dusty “Lifeday Hunter” Riedesel