Born a Star-Spangled Sucker

Let’s pretend you were born on a holiday … say, the 4th of July? OK, so you grow up thinking all the hoopla is for you. For weeks, you can’t wait to celebrate YOU with the rest of the country. See how you might be confused when you discover it isn’t?

I am an Independence Day baby. As a result, I’ve worn an embarrassing amount of patriotic outfits and witnessed my fair share of firework shows. I’ve had more than 20 red, white and blue birthday cakes. I’ve proclaimed my love for Uncle Sam being only slightly stronger than my love for me.

When I found out — admittedly, well into my childhood — that everyone’s excitement around the 4th had basically nothing to do with me, I was crushed. The barbecues, the parades, the screwed-up National Anthem performances — all of it’s for the USA? Not what I signed up for, people.

I was further punished with a few years of canceled fireworks. From wildfires to Florida rain, Mother Nature can be a real birthday bitch. The summer date meant I never carried balloons at school or had a classroom party. Celebrations with friends were moved around the holiday weekend, so everyone could spend time with their families — the nerve!

The day isn’t all bad, though. I’ve never had tests, like my friends with school-year birthdays. I’ve never been scheduled to work. I’ve hosted a bar crawl the past few years, and it’s been a shitshow perfectly fit for the nation’s (and my) birthday.

So, enjoy the festivities as you celebrate America and Amanda this weekend. Cheers to another 235 years of kicking ass and taking names!

Slick Rick and I in the county paper on my 1st birthday

Cake-faced already at age 2, with Magz and Brother