I Will Not Say Happy Birthday To Myself

So much of our time is spent trying to be subtle about getting patted on the back. Hard to be humble when you’re stuntin on Instagram. No one’s sneaky, we all pimp ourselves out. Every post is the same. Oh look what I’m eating, hey look where I was, oh guess what I did last night. But the absolute worst is people’s Instagram birthdays. 

First of all, if you post a picture of yourself for your own birthday go take a dip in the Hudson with a cinder block. Where is your shame? What, no one would like your shitty picture if it wasn’t your birthday? So you tell everyone how old you are in hopes that someone outside of the same 80 people who react to your posts throws you a sympathy like? Is that how you get your jollies off?

Don’t even get me started on the birthday stories. You click on somebody’s avatar up top and there’s 67 little dots to scroll through. Now I have to do left and right thumb speed tap through your reposts of other people’s stories saying happy birthday to you. Those aren’t real friends. Most of the time it’s just another excuse for your friend to post another picture of themselves. Usually the person who’s birthday it is looks like shit and the friend looks like a million bucks. And now what? If you don’t repost their shoutout does that make you a bad person? They’re taking you hostage on your own birthday. Do you have to keep a list of everyone who gave you a story shoutout because you’re now indebted to shout them out on their birthday? There’s too many strings attached, where does it stop? 

You know what I did for my birthday today? Went to Rainforest Cafe with my nephew since we share a birthday. Got a jaguar cup and everything. Shit gets crazy in the late twenties. Granted, I just spent the weekend in Vegas so I’m out of celebrations, but still. 

I’m aware of the paradox I just created. I subtly dropped that it’s my birthday, what I ate, and where I’ve just been. You could argue that by writing this blog I’m just using a different medium to say happy birthday to myself and ultimately participate in the act that I’m condemning. But whatever, fuck you. It’s my birthday and I’ll do whatever the hell I want.