By Gina Angostura
Columnist

Gina sings the birthday blues

Two weeks ago, I celebrated ­ and I use that term loosely ­ my birthday.

It was a big one.

THE big one, Elizabeth.

The sobbing has finally stopped, so maybe I can talk about it now.

Previous articles • September 28, 2006 • September 14, 2006 • August 31, 2006 • August 17, 2006 • August 3, 2006 • July 20, 2006 • July 6, 2006 • June 22, 2006 • June 8, 2006 • May 25, 2006 • May 11, 2006 • April 27, 2006 • April 13, 2006 • March 30, 2006 • March 16, 2006 • March 2, 2006 • February 16, 2006 • February 2, 2006 • January 26, 2006 • January 19, 2006 • January 12, 2006 • January 5, 2006 • 2005 Archives

When I was younger and I thought about reaching this particular birthday, I always pictured myself in a big family scene, smiling, cake ablaze with candles.

Instead, I spent it in a midnight bacchanal full of lust and desire, spooning two of my favorite men ­ Ben and Jerry.

It actually wasn’t half bad, and I didn’t have to risk lung failure from blowing out decades of candles.

But my friends finally came through, throwing me a huge party at a club that week. Well, not a huge party. We had two tables at a club. But there were lots of people there. Too bad I didn’t know any of them.

But it was fun. I got the usual slew of over-the-hill gifts. I smiled and thanked everyone, counting the years until I could get sweet, sweet revenge. Believe me, it’s coming for you all!

But I had to stop feeling sorry for myself when the music started. Because then there were oh, so many other people to feel sorry for. I especially loved the guy who kept pointing to himself in the mirror when he danced. I mean, I don’t love looking at myself in a mirror, period. And I really don’t want to watch myself dance in a mirror. But THIS guy was all over himself. I’m surprised he didn’t leave lip prints on the glass.

And then there were the bets placed on certain women who some of the group thought had to be surgically enhanced, while others thought they were completely natural. I’ll give you a hint: One group was all women, one all delusional men.

But the real high point came when Gina took the stage in her rock ’n’ roll debut.

Actually, the band dragged me up onstage with them after being tipped off by some traitorous coworker that it was my birthday. So I got to play tambourine (shades of Susan Dey!) during Shania Twain’s “I Feel Like a Woman.” And when the singer held out the mike for me to sing that one line, it was in such a low key that even if I felt like a woman, I sounded like a man. But it was pretty awesome, I have to admit.

I believe now that I’ve dropped enough pop references into this column (at least two) for anyone to guess the decade I’ve entered.

If you’d care to hazard a guess, send your answers to singlecynic@manchestermirror.com. The first male to guess correctly wins the chance to buy me dinner.

Gina welcomes your comments and questions. Have a dating dilemma you’re struggling with? What, you think Gina isn’t struggling? But feel free to share anyway. We’re in this together. E-mail me at singlecynic@manchestermirror.com.

The Single Cynic alternates weeks with the Married Cynic.