Hell Yes, A.S. King Still Celebrates her Birthday

I'm gonna keep this simple: A. S. King is the author of THE DUST OF 100 DOGS, a Spring 2009 Indie Next Pick for Teens, and a number of short stories. She can be found at her blog, where she's currently running an eyeball contest. And guess what? Amy's a March baby too. So listen to someone who's a year older and a year wiser.

Hell Yes, I Still Celebrate my Birthday
by A.S. King

You know, the older I get, the more I hear people say, “I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.” They wave it off like it’s any old day of the year, and roll their eyes. “Sheesh!” they say, “I’m closer to dead than I am to born, so why celebrate?” Uh—isn’t that even more of a reason to party down? In our house, we try to take the day off, not answer the business phone, and stay in our pajamas as long as we can. Join us! Mix up your beverage of choice (coffee for me, thanks) put on a hat, and get comfortable. Because today I turn 39.

*sing birthday song here.*

Like most people, I have certain birthday memories, helped along by photographs, which is what I’d like to share with you today. I owe thanks to my parents, their Minolta & Kodachrome for these mini visual time machines.

First off, I have a news flash. I was once cute. This picture is from my second birthday. Seriously. Look at how cute I was. That’s probably a German Chocolate Cake w/ the proper coconut icing. Homemade, of course. My favorite. This cake made an appearance pretty much every single March 10^th since I was born.


My 5^th birthday in 1975, I got a xylophone. It is the birthday that sticks out the strongest in my memory. This is the only picture I have of the xylophone. The hands holding the mallets are my mother’s—though when she goes musical, which is she is known to do, we call her Janine. Go Janine!


Then, like all children, I started to grow out of my cuteness. I feel that hitting this not-so-cute-anymore stage smack at the end of the 1970s was a real obstacle. Seriously. Look what it did to me, here, on my 8^th birthday in 1978. NG, man. Not. Good.


This next picture is a picture of my 19^th birthday. It was my first college birthday & yes, that is a cigarette in my hand. What’s in the cup is anyone’s guess, but I’m betting it’s not Ovaltine. Let me please take this opportunity to remind you—smoking is an awful, horrible and stupid curse, and drinking isn’t much better. Also, choosing eyewear requires a modicum of sanity, which, in 1989, it seems I did not possess.



Here ends my journey to the planet of past birthdays.

I have a year from today to enjoy my last age that begins with a 3, and then, I will turn 40 gracefully. Not so bad at all. My eyewear has improved, I’ve quit smoking, I rarely drink, and I manage to exercise when I can. I feel young. I’m not sure if I feel younger than 39 or what 39 is supposed to feel like, but I’m still on a quest to learn things, and to not get out of bed in the morning. So, I guess really, I’m still this kid:

Even though I look like this now.


Thanks so much for having me to your party, Liviania! Happy birthday to you and to me and to the other Marchlings out there and happy blog birthday, too!

Now, who’s up for refilling the birthday girl's coffee?

--

As I just bought coffee, I'm happy to give Amy some. I haven't been able to read my copy of DUST OF 100 DOGS yet, so I lent it to someone in penance. She told me it's "really awesome." No lie, her verbal review used awesome about twenty times.

So let's wish A.S. King a happy birthday! (And don't forget to enter Steph/Reviewer X's gargantuan contest.)