The New Ancient

Last year, the theme of my birthday was "22 is the new black." You see, themes are necessary as a defense mechanism against the fact that I seem to be aging far quicker than my peers, as evidenced by the fact that they all seem to make fun of me even though most of them will be turning the same age shortly. This year, however, I can think of nothing so apropo as "23 is the new ancient." Only it's not so new. Kinda just ancient.

Anyone who knows me AT ALL knows that I am obsessed with my birthday. With birthdays in general, really. If you think that I'm a selfish birthday person, just know this: I actually remembered this week that the following birthdays fall between January 20th and January 27th: January 20th - Esther Stein (girl who stopped going to SAR after about 1st grade, but will always be remembered in my heart for a really cool birthday present she got me - a stuffed present that unzips and folds out into a stuffed animal). January 22nd - Ari Becher (thank you Etan Merel, who challenged me to learn the entire eight grade's birthdays when I was in seventh grade, which still randomly prompts me to think things like "oh, it's September 24th! Happy birthday, Asher Wilens!" or "December 10th - hope Sharon Millendorf is celebrating!"). January 23rd - Estee Besser and my cousin Avigayil. January 24th - Daniel Slobodyansky. January 25th - my Uncle Leslie. January 26th - me, of course, Liza Miller (Aaron's sister), Jason Osher (Erica's brother). January 27th - some girl named Sabrina I once met in the pool at one of the Herschkopfs' parties in the Hamptons.

Take a deep breath and move on past my insanity - you knew what you were signing on for when you befriended me. Anyway, this year, birthday is not seeming so exciting. I see no perks of turning 23. Even 22 had the slightly cool benefit of feeling a little more adult and not like I juuuuust made it into the bar. But 23? Old and useless.

I'm hoping that the real reason I'm apathetic about my birthday this year is because I just threw a big New Years party and then just had a large engagement party and so my birthday's just a little anticlimactic, and by 24 (oh God) I'll be rip-rarin' to go. (Or, more likely, having a few people over for dinner and drinks in my and Yoni's oh-so-sophisticated married abode.) I mean, I have hit a frightening level of apathy. I'm not sitting here making a mental list of who I think will call at midnight, who will call on January 27th realizing they missed the big day, and who I know will make sure they get their calls in on time.

Mostly, I'm just thinking about birthdays past. I have had some damn good birthdays. A few standout celebrations:

Seventeen. Dinner at Dougie's, birthday cookie with Talia, sitting around Urban, reading out loud from Barrie's gift "Hot Sex: How to Have it" at Rachel's house, and realizing all my friends were pervs.

Nineteen. Jerusalem. Utter ridiculousness. Started with a night out at Mamilla with Jess, Liz, Melis, Sas, Julie, Hich, and Jenny, which, at the time, meant Reishit boys were sure to follow, who, in this case, were the ever-present Yoni Kirschner and Donny Knoll, and Craig Lustman. (Jess, in case you really have started reading my blog, did I get that right this time?) I still remember what I drank - three vodka and Red Bulls, a Midori Sour, and shared an unfortunately named Orgasm. Hilton. Coyote Ugly, literally. Cafe Rimon. Sleep. Woke up to breakfast in bed compliments of the wonderful Aliza Boim. I am pretty positive I did not make it to shiur that morning. Got up just in time for a wonderful lunch at Trevi with the roomies, Stan, Rachel, others. SO nice, cards, presents, bought myself a ghetto cam, got approximately zero pictures. THEN I went to shiur - Shivat Tzion. Then dinner at Olive (how I miss thee) with Boim, Goldie, and Zehava. And then, because I am impossibly spoiled, another party, this time with my favorite Hannah's performing an irresistably sexy dance in irrestistably bizarre outfits, yummy cakes, and even a huge "Happy birthday Dahlia" on the blackboard. My cup runneth over.

Twenty. So that's what a college birthday party is. Liquor, a YU apartment (we were not done with Yoni and Donny just yet), dancing, a couple making out on top of Barrie, and lots and lots of people and fun and pictures and love for Yoni, Jess, and Liz, the greatest party planners anyone dare ask for.

Twenty-one. Kind of a frightening prospect. Your twenty-first had better be good, and mine was. Not because I got wasted - the closest I came was spending the day with Zehava and buying beers, of which I drank approximately a quarter of one. But my twenty-first birthday was my very first genuine surprise party, coming right on the heels of my very first actually sort of surprising "Weinstein party." Over the next couple of years, I would learn just how much Yoni would have to live up to if he wanted to win the title of world's greatest roommate over Dena or Edit.

Twenty-two. I decide to stop making people fear my birthday and plan my own party instead. I spend most of the night talking about my hair, as I had just donated to Locks of Love for my second time a week earlier, but nevertheless, good times, nice surprise guests, my sibs came, and Yoni was back home.

So you see, I am spoiled. And those are "just" the parties. I dare you to find anyone who has received presents as fabulous as I. A small sample: The digital camera that has become a permanent fixture in my hand from Yoni; an autographed lineup of the Usual Suspects, my absolute favorite movie from Jason Fogel; an autographed copy of the Nirvana biography "Come as You Are" from Gaby Yarmush, Tani, Dovid, Mickey, and Dani; my Daily Dahlia cup and beautiful Michael Negrin ring from Barrie; my totally original pasuk bracelet from Rebecca; my gold watch from my parents; a gold necklace from Oliver Freund; my very first wallet from Nicole Eshaghian; the candle that smells like Israel from Ali; my beloved memory-filled Britney poster from Hantzibear, along with some other fabulous collages I still have from seven years ago; a copy of The Prince from Shira Billet - not because I read it, but because she thought to give it; 19 presents for my 19th birthday from Aliza Boim, including a copy of Rolling Stone...while we were in Israel; The two greatest shirts that ever were - Don't you wish your ___ was hot like me and Xoposhaya Ebreuckaya Debyshka, from Edit and Dena, respectively; 1,001 Things to See Before You Die - which, as soon as possible, I will make my bible, from Sasha; My memory boxes - another obsession - my senior year of high school one from Talia, and my sophomore year of college one from Zehava; My framed "Bite Me" from Aliza Fessel; my newest wedding bag and beautiful matching jewelry from Hannah and Ilan (although gifts tend to pale in comparison to Hannah Kornreich poems); Every card with candy in it I ever got from Karla. You get it. I'm babbling. I'm spoiled. I know. But I appreciate it, more than babbling can say.

That said, I feel kind of like a whiny brat, but I like reminiscing, and I hate aging, and the older I get the more thinking about stuff that seems to have just happen falls under the "reminiscing" category and that's kind of a sad thing. And that's why, on this birthday, I think having a dessert party is extremely apropo - because nothing makes aging go down easier than rice krispie treats and chocolate peanut butter bars.