40th Birthday -- Unplugged, Unslinged, Unplanned

[Last year, on Saturday, January 5, the day before my 39th birthday, my brother's and my friend, Pete, had a party. It was a get together with a bunch of my brother's friends and their girlfriends and wives, people I've known for years and years. I had no plans for my birthday, not because no one had offered, but because I didn't want any. I'd just had surgery, and for other reasons unrelated to birthdays (you know how I like to stay on topic and not digress in endless parentheticals), I wasn't in "the mood" for having a birthday. But there was this party, and my brother and sister-in-law encouraged me to go, so I did. I'm glad I did. It was fun. Even though it wasn't a birthday party, it was the night before my birthday, and I was at a party. I wasn't alone, and therefore, I wasn't sitting somewhere thinking how dumb it was that even though I could be with people, I'd made a choice to sit by myself on my birthday for no reason. (There was a reason, but that's a whole other thing, and again, I'm respecting how you don't need me going off on tangents.)

At midnight, I turned 39. A wink from my sister-in-law and a couple of girlfriends who knew -- that was nice. I felt happy. Content. It was the exact right amount of birthday acknowledgment I could handle that day, and if every birthday could be that way, I think I would like it. But this year, my birthday is on a Monday, and also, I don't live in Chicago, so there are some considerable barriers to someone just happening to have a non-birthday party this Sunday in Nashville.

I've decided to appeal to Pete, who, I'm sure, would probably want to have a party 3 days after New Year's Eve anyway. Lots of people like to go to parties the very first weekend after all the holidays are over. That's why the timing of my birthday is so awesome to begin with... it's usually the first day back to school or "real" work (not "In-between-holidays-I'm-just-here-because-I-have-to-be-but-really-I'm-spending-8-hours-looking-at-everyone's-Facebook-pictures-from-Christmas-and-Jesus!-Did-she-ACTUALLY-wear-THAT-OUT-to-a-New-Year's-Eve-Party?-Why?-Also,-should-I-send-an-email-to-my-friend-asking-her-to-take-down-this-picture-of-me-where-my-muffin-top-is-just-like-REALLY-prominent,-or-would-that-seem-vain?" work.) It's the time of year when NO one really wants to be ANYWHERE except home in bed. Including me. Which is why I never want to celebrate my birthday. But there's still the hope of Pete. For some reason he did it last year. Why not this year?]

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So, uh, Peter, are you going to unknowingly have a birthday party for me again this year? Saturday works... if the lovely Gigi is free to clean up your place and make it look like a caveman doesn't live there. If she doesn't want to clean up, that's fine too. As for food, I don't need anything fancy. Just cook up those 20 boxes of Macaroni & Cheese that we made fun of you for having after we opened all the cabinets in your kitchen.

This year I'm in pretty decent shape for a party, unlike last year, when I was recovering from shoulder surgery and wearing a comically gigantic sling:

January 2013
The sling and the huge pillow in between my forearm and torso hold my arm in place, but they do not serve any protective function for the part of the body where the surgery happened. While it LOOKS like the elbow and forearm are in distress, the shoulder, with six incisions in front and back, is totally exposed. It must be human nature to slap someone on the shoulder when you see her wearing such a wild contraption (it had REFLECTORS ON IT!), and it makes perfect sense that one would deduce that the person wearing it had met with some kind of elbow misfortune.

It works really well as cup-holder.

Last year at your party, EACH and EVERY PERSON who entered the party, said hello to me and then inexplicably punched me RIGHT in the stitches, causing me to spit-take Diet Coke in agony while smiling and saying, "No, no, I'm fine. It's OK." Then I moved into an empty area of the house that I'd had to seek out for just this purpose, pressed my face into the wall, and screamed noiselessly for 2 minutes. Then I came back out to the party, acting like everything was cool, even though I suspected that after the fifth or sixth jab, and two of them from like REALLY BIG DUDES (you know exactly who I'm talking about), at least ONE of those stitches HAD to have popped open. But I wasn't going to complain or be a baby about it. If people want to greet me by punching me, that's OK. I used to have cats, so I understand that friendliness can be expressed in a variety of ways that don't seem friendly at all.

So after I caught my breath and adjusted my sling, I came back into the room, and I positioned myself strategically so that no one could get near my shoulder. But no matter WHAT I did, people just kept finding me and punching THAT ONE SHOULDER. You know I'm not making this up, Pete. And I think I was a really good sport about it.

The whole point is, my shoulder is fine and totally punch-able now. In fact, I INVITE you to punch it! Accordingly, because I'm able-bodied this year, there should be dancing, preferably to music that you've written... perhaps with me in mind? I'm not asking for much, just maybe a 10-track album entitled "Jules -- The Entire Inspiration for My Life of Music"? That seems reasonable. Thanks in advance.

(Side note to my sister-in-law, and Mindy, and Loradona: Like last year, I'm again requesting that you not tell anyone at Pete's party that it's my birthday, because, like last year, I don't want anyone to know it's my birthday, even though I kept accidentally mentioning it... but only for the purpose of IMPLORING you not to tell anyone, which you didn't, and I really appreciate that.)