On Turning 40, and Other Personal Problems

I outlived him.

Picking up where I'd been bitching and/or moaning, I turned 40 on Friday. As with most big events, I'd given the day a lot of thought for several months and had several ideas that would require several stages of planning, but then I stopped thinking about everything until a week before the big day and by then it was too late to do anything reasonable.

This chain of events also applies annually to:

• My anniversary
• My parents' anniversary
• My parents' birthdays
• Any family gathering I choose to host
• Mrs. The Anthony Show's birthday

You get the idea. In the case of my birthday, I sort of froze up when it came to major plans because I was hamstrung by the limits in funds and time. Had either of those elements been — not unlimited, but let's say less limited — things could have been a little different.

I must also note that for many years leading up to numero cuarenta, I had this hopeful assumption regarding my place in the universe, which would have a heavy influence on how I would celebrate this milestone.

What would that be like, you ask? Well...

I ALSO ASSUMED THAT I'D OWN AT LEAST ONE FLYING CAR

I outlived him.

I'd probably be making a decent salary doing something I enjoyed. I'd have a lot of friends, or at least a decent handful of close ones who'd have no trouble dropping everything to spend a weekend in Atlantic City or perhaps even Vegas (I'd be so familiar with Las Vegas that it wouldn't sound pretentious for me to refer to it as "Vegas").

I'd dine on a porterhouse or maybe a Cajun ribeye the size of a Michelin HydroEdge all-season tire, which would be a permissible indulgence because I'd be in such great shape that I could handle it along with the double-dessert of crème brûlée and New York cheesecake on this special occasion. My friends — whom I might refer to unironically as bros and get away with it — and I would then hit the tables where I would either clean up at craps or enjoy myself pissing away money that I could afford to lose.

Then we'd make our way to a strip club — a classy strip club with a ridiculous cover charge — where I'd have a suitcase full of cash handcuffed to my wrist — the wrist that doesn't sport the Patek Philippe that I always forget I'm wearing and when people ask me what time it is I'm always checking my awesome cellphone which I guess would be the equivalent of the iPhone 7 even though no one even has an iPhone 5 yet.

And I'd grease the bouncer and we'd get prime seats and the ladies would scurry to our table like ants to a dropped Carvel Flying Saucer and though my friends will enjoy their rounds of flesh I wouldn't even partake in the festivities; I'd just sit there, sipping my $15 beer, probably an import, and bask in a greater high than watching fake-tanned and faker-titted women disrobe within breathing distance of their perfumed wake: my own greatness.

IF YOU DIDN'T ALREADY GUESS, NONE OF THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED

I outlived him.

Still, I can't complain. The day itself went far beyond my more realistic expectations — a day I expected to spend in a chasm of bitterness and denial — because I actually embraced the Facebook this time around.

Facebook is a great way to let people know it's your birthday without having to tell them yourself. When I started at my current job two years ago, my mostly friendly co-workers didn't know it was my birthday until a couple of days later, when they spotted on my desk the card that Mrs. The Anthony Show gave me. One of them asked me, "Why didn't you tell us it was your birthday?" But there's no easy way to reveal it's your birthday (unless it's several weeks or longer in advance) without seeming unseemly:

• "It's funny...everyone has a birthday, and today happens to be mine!"
• "When's your birthday?"
  "It's August twenty—"
  "Mine's today."
• "Knock, knock!"
  "Uh...who's there?"
  "MY BIRTHDAY."

Facebook tells the world (or your Facebook friends, at least) when it's your birthday, and your friends can decide whether or not to send you greetings, without your making them feel guilty.

YOU CAN'T ESCAPE

I out—wait, he's still alive.

Of course, if you don't want anyone to know it's your birthday, it's hard to keep it a secret on Facebook.

Two years ago, I was feeling rather dickish — almost Andy Dickish — and cranky about my birthday, and I wasn't in the mood to accept birthday wishes from my Facebook friends, so I removed that information from my profile.

But that gambit didn't work, because the handful of Facebook friends who didn't need Facebook to know my date of birth posted on my wall anyway, and these postings alerted anyone else who was paying attention.

Last year I was feeling rather dickish and cranky about my birthday, so I turned off access to my wall, but that didn't work, because I started to receive private messages, so I turned my wall back on.

"DON'T RESIST THE FLOW," OR SOME OTHER BUDDHIST CLICHÉ

I outlived both of them, also.

This year I finally gave up and decided to just ride the wave. And I'm actually glad I did. Despite not having any sort of party, having a Facebook wall full of birthday wishes from disparate friends and acquaintance made it feel like I was the guest of honor at a half birthday party, half This Is Your Life episode. I tried to reply to every birthday wish with something unique about the person who sent the wish, whether it was a memory of our past together or just a little note of appreciation.

Because I did, in fact, appreciate it. Plus it made me feel as if I were mingling with guests who in this virtual sense did not drain my liquor cabinet.

It some ways, as I later noted on my wall, it was better than a party, because I couldn't imagine arranging an event that attracted people who were:

• Friends from my old neighborhood 
• Classmates from elementary/junior/high school
• College acquaintances
• Co-workers from various jobs and hobbies
• Assorted relatives
• People with whom I'm Facebook friends yet can't remember why
• My mother

So, even though I would have been satisfied with splitting a large Greek salad with Mrs. The Anthony Show (the one time in several years that my birthday falls on a Friday it has to be during Lent with a late Easter) and then splitting with her and the kids an adequate red-velvet cake bought from a supermarket bakery — the girl didn't like the icing, the boy hated the whole thing — this year I have to admit I felt a little extra...something on my birthday.

I think "love" might be a little too strong. I'd say it was, to use the Facebook term, extra "like."