My Birthday Buddy

It’s my birthday, bitch!  Break out the corkscrew, don your tiara, and hydrate appropriately.  It’s gonna be wild!

Okay, my birthday’s not actually until tomorrow.  But the celebrations begin today.  My friends are taking me to the speakeasy/burlesque club tonight for my birthday sazerac, where I will probably drink entirely too much, dance like a crazy person, and be thoroughly embarrassed by the M.C. and the girl who pops out of the giant cardboard cake at the end of the show.

The good thing is I will not be the only one.

I have met several people through the years who’ve shared with me this auspicious day as the anniversary of their birth:  a girl four years my junior also named Amanda in my home town, my sister’s best friend all through her university years, as well as one of my favorite college professors.  But none of those shared birthdays have resulted in the same amount of awesome that has been sharing my birthday with my good friend Ren.

Ren after we went to Holi last year.

Ren after we went to Holi last year.

We’d already been friends for a while when we discovered our birthday-sameness.  In fact, I was already living in her house.  She and her husband were the ones who let me stay in their guest room rent-free for almost six months after my break-in (she actually came over in the middle of the night to wait up with me for the emergency repair guys to come fix my door; she brought a hatchet for protection).  I’d been staying with them a little over a month when the topic of birthday’s came up, and I mentioned the need to start planning for mine.

“Oh yeah, I need to do that, too,” Ren replied.

I looked at her curiously.  “When’s your birthday?”

“June.”

“Mine, too!”

“Really?  What day?”

“The 8th.”

Whichever one of us was speaking at this point stared wide-eyed at the other.  “That’s MY birthday!”

“WHAAAAAAAT???”

This is often how conversations go between me and Ren.  She’s just as ridiculous and random as I am, only more out-going (she says she’s an introvert, but sometimes I don’t believe her).  We immediately decided to have our birthday festivities together, dragging our friends from one bar to another before ending up at some old-school hip-hop club.  It was the best birthday I’d had in a long time.

In the 364 days since, Ren has become one of my closest friends.  Even after moving out of her house, I still see her via dance at least three times a week.  I can always count on her to make me laugh, to comfort me when I’m upset.  When I’m pissed off at someone and need to vent via Facebook chat after midnight, she’s there.  When I just want to curl up with her corgi (not some weird euphemism; I’m actually talking about her dog) and watch a movie with her and her husband, I’m welcome.  When I’m looking to get into ridiculous alcohol-influenced shenanigans, Ren is right by my side, drunkenly shouting comments about her vagina out the car window or taking her top off on a dare.

And tonight, when I’m forced to do a burlesque booty-roll onstage during “Happy Birthday to You”, I know she will be right there beside me.

Our last birthday.  There was many a temporary moustache finger tattoo.

Our last birthday. There was many a temporary moustache finger tattoo.

So happiest of birthdays to my best birthday buddy, Ren.  And many more.

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