I have two birthdays. My birth certificate says I was born on March 26, but after getting in touch with my bio dad a few years ago, it appears Catholic Charities changed it to make it more difficult for us to track each other down in the future. Little did they know in 1974 the Internet cometh. My actual, technical, real (?) birthday is March 24. So which do I celebrate? Duh, both of 'em. Today is the day in the middle, the 25th, the un-birthday.
One of my best friends, Jenn (even though she is but common folk with -- sniff -- one birthday), has not allowed herself to be shackled by one, fleeting day in April. She has broken free from her simpleton one-birthday roots and annually celebrates Jenneca, a week-long holiday of gifts and vodka and dancing and beer and music and wine and friends and ... more vodka. She recommends I do the same. She says anyone can be royalty and rise above the one-birthday caste system by taking their first name and adding an "eca" to the end of it.
"Screeeeeeew the one-birthday stigma," she says, throwing her arms in the air in her drama queen way. "Just start on the 20th and celebrate Jess...eca. Oh. Jessica-eca?"
Whatever. I'm sticking to the two birthdays. And the un-birthday.
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