Call your mother. Listen to her sing "Happy Birthday to You," then wait while she gets your grandmother and godmother on the phone. They tell you all kinds of things about what you were like as a baby. You can’t believe those stories. Neither can they. Understand how special this is. You still have them, alive and healthy and very present in your life. Your parents are still married and happy. Your grandmother just traded in her old
Caddy for a new one. Here’s the kicker: your 85 year old father can’t come to the phone right now because he’s out running errands back and forth in his pick-up truck. You still have them. This is your real birthday present.

Drink a quart of water and hit the gym for an hour with a vengeance. Go home, inhale a protein smoothie, shower and shave. Then throw on a frock, some open-toed sandals and–don’ t walk—stroll out of the house.

Get a facial at Mario Badescu.

Go to Barnes and Noble at Union Square and get a biography or some collected writings of Lester Bangs and the latest MOJO. Stretch out on the grass in the sunny shade and read for awhile.

Go by Khiel’s and stock up. Afterwards, get a manicure and pedicure at Jeniette Salon, and see your eyebrowist.

Have an early supper at Chat ‘n Chew with your friend Lil’ Debbie. Get the Kitchen Sink Salad like you always do. Pop your vitamins as if on cue. Talk her into going over to The Coffee Shop to have the guava crepes for dessert, instead of the Co-Cola Cake in the dessert display as a birthday treat. Walk it off by wandering up 5^th Avenue, window-shopping out loud. Buy some beautiful Indian silk scarves off the street and an incredible pair of shades at Kenneth Cole. Jump in the car and get to Guastavino’s, where you have drinks with a few close friends. You shock everyone by having a glass of champagne.

The party moves to your favorite neighborhood bar, where more people come by and you spend the rest of the night laughing and carrying on as you dance to music like Frankie Beverley and Maze, Bobby "Blue" Bland and Shuggie Otis. You run into Olu Dara, of course. He tells you that you look like a lovely sepiatone daydream from the 30’s. Funny—that’s exactly what you feel like. You talk about theater and the best way to make hoppin’ john.

You stumble out around 4am and walk home, blissfully happy. This is your perfect birthday in New York City.