Roll Bounce

Photo: Me, in three weeks.










My birthday is right around the corner--Wednesday, May 7th--and I've been trying to figure out the best way to celebrate. I've met people who don't celebrate their birthdays at all (raise your humbled hands, Jehovah Witnesses) and people who hardly remember their birthdays because it's just another number (mostly senior citizens, in my experience); I am definitely not one of those people. I also don't hang with the uber-hipsters, who are too good for birthday parties and only throw retro-themed soirees for irony; same goes for the *I'll just rent a movie and stay in* folks who I imagine are widows, or librarians, or both. I think birthdays are bigger than that. Quite frankly, I think my birthday should be a national holiday.

Last year, we had a kickass bowling/pizza party at the Sunset; I was the only sober person there, I think, which was helpful--it enabled me to be very present while Breeber sang Elton John's 'Honky Cat' to me. That's our song. We also had a nice dinner at Pasta Freska the night before with some friends and family, and the Esq took me out for a romantic dinner at the Market that week, where we watched the sunset from the Place Pigalle; the food there was amazing. So last year's birthday lasted all month and totally owned--this year has to match that or exceed it, for shiz.

First up, we're throwing a Skate King party on the east side. For those of you who loathe the east side as much as I do, suck it up; it's the closest roller rink to Seattle and I want to Hokey Pokey like a pro. Plus, the east side isn't that bad--it's just homogenized, corporate, and without personality. We'll be going there to liven up the local Skate King, if not the entire area. I think that will be the weekend of the 10th, but I haven't made the reservation yet; I need to see what works best for everyone. Then I'll probably throw a shindig here at the apartment (the only thing that motivates me to clean), and then host a dinner somewhere out there. Fun? Yes. Excessive? Not really. I mean, if you can't be excited about the age you're turning, at least thrill yourself to death with the celebrations.

I know a lot of people who have lost limbs to the rough-and-tumble sport of rollerskating, but we will prevail. I don't think I'm a very good roller skater, despite my not-so-secret wish of being a Rat City Roller Girl. And truthfully, I don't think I really want to be a RCRG, I just want to be bad ass like a rollergirl. And hot. So that's what I want for my birthday: a Rat City Roller Girl of my very own, one whom I can love and worship while extracting her essence through a series of distilling experiments that will ultimately transfer her powers to me, but leave her dead as a doorknob. (This, of course, is the plot to a wonderful book I read many moons ago called Perfume, written by Patrick Suskind--it was one of those creepy, murderous books that make you desperately uncomfortable, but also provides the most incredible descriptions of smells I've ever seen; it's the only novel I have ever smelled my way through.)

First person to bring me a rollergirl wins.