Happy Birthday My Friend

One candle for every decade of your life. Holy crap, that’s a depressing thought, isn’t it?

What are you doing here? Didn’t you know there’s a party going on? It’s Michael Whiteman-Jones’  (aka MikeWJ, aka BonyMike, aka BoneyMike) and he’s having a party. Everyone’s invited, but you must bring a gift. This is my gift to Mike.

I put a lot of thought into this gift. I spent the entire day considering and rejecting different possibilities. I know he wants an iPad so he can be cooler than his kids, but I just don’t think it’s right to be cooler than your kids. That, and it wouldn’t work anyway. His son Gabe has been 15 years old for about 15 years now, and even an iPad won’t make Mike cooler than an eternal teenager.

I considered getting him a really stylish wintercoat, to make sure that bony frame of his stays warm and fashionable. But then I realized he lives in the best part of Colorado where it’s about 80 degrees Farenheit and sunny every single damn day of the year. He actually yearns for snow. Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with him.

If I had a sports car, it would definitely be red.

Which made me think I should give him snow, since I have an abundance of it. But then Ziva gave him snow. I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a fancy car, especially since he loves to drive fast. But then Linda gave him one.

So I went back to his party, hid in a corner and read his invitation over and over again, looking for inspiration. I found it. Mike is one of my favourite writers, in or out of the blogosphere. I read every single word of his posts, which is saying a lot, because while he is supremely talented, he is also (and I say this lovingly) a tad verbose. But I read and it is always a pleasure. And sometimes I read between the lines. Like the line about mysterious tattoos.

Mike, it means “one”. Not so much like the number, but rather like the concept. Singular, solo, alone. That was how I felt at the time. I was heartbroken, in the middle of a huge family crisis and working at a job I hated for people who were not only despicable, but highly immoral. It was also the number of people I felt I could count on.

So, now you know. A bit of a depressing story to give as a birthday gift, so let me just add this: I did have people I could count on, they did put up with my pathetic ass until I got over myself, I went on to find a new job, I bought my first home, met  a crazy, wonderful man and had another kid. And lived happily ever after.

Hahahahaha! Yeah, okay, scratch that last part. My story’s not over yet, but I suspect a murder and some jail time may not be out of the question.

Happy Birthday, my friend. I hope it is spectacular 🙂

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