When you reach my age, birthdays are just that one day of the year where you can guilt-trip people into leaving their homes to hang out with you.
364 days of the year, you’re playing Russian Roulette with people when you’re making plans. Text chains, voicemails, and emails that all amount to jack shit.
YEAH, PROBABLY DEFINITELY WE WILL HANG OUT! SOUNDS AMAZING.
Not judging or anything because even my best friends see me about 5 times a year. 3 of those times are at a wedding, one of them is a birthday, and there’s that one day in November where my friends get together and play a pathetic game of football.
Facebook had a really great idea for my birthday and I’m super excited about it.
Yeah, that’s right. Instead of a group-soak, or a golf outing, I’m going to fucking donate to some cause I’m passionate about. Hey Zuckerberg, you know what I’m passionate about?
My goddamn self.
Pretty sure my one hang-out day will not be dedicated to saving some trees and raising awareness for some rare disease. I could actually have the disease and I still want that money going to a birthday gift. The more I look at that photo, the more mad I get. There are some really smart people working for Facebook and I don’t know what think-tank determined this was the philanthropic idea to help the world.
You don’t have to buy me a gift (golf-stuff would be nice) but don’t you dare donate money on my behalf.