Shonda Ponder at 40

October 30, 2008 was my fortieth birthday. I was behind on bills, again. I had no money to party with; and, I was fighting depression because I had no phone minutes and couldn’t even talk to my kids. However, I had a lot to look forward to.

The first thing I did on my fortieth birthday was settle disputes on my email list that threatened the integrity of the Citizen’s Network Alliance if it wasn’t addressed. The dispute was religious in nature, and the fight was over who’s religion was the true religion. In the end, God won out; not because He was forceful, but because He was, period.

I left the house to pay some bills, so I could prepare for the celebration ahead. On the way back home from paying my computer bill, I got stopped by a cop for going 13 miles over the speed limit. He let me go because it was my birthday (and I have no record). I thanked him and went on my way.

Around 5:00 PM, I was disappointed and depressed. No one said “Happy Birthday” to me. No one called me. There was no cake. My boyfriend usually gets cake for all his friends on their birthday, and I felt he wasn’t even thinking about me. I started crying. Brad, my boyfriend, said, “Cheer up, it’s your birthday.”

I said, “Why. I got no phone call, and no cake, and no money.” He brought out a big Chocolate cake with chocolate candy icing and the words, “Happy Birthday, Shonda” on top. Everyone in the bar sang “Happy Birthday” to me, and we all ate cake. Then he said, “I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t get you a cake for your birthday.”

We ate at China King, my favorite restaurant, and then we went bar hopping. I wanted to go somewhere different, because the Arrow bar was too much like home. I wanted to do something different. We went to the Frosty Mug, and I drank wine coolers and sang a song on Karaoke with Dave and Vickie Vaughn.

Then, we left there and went to the Double R, where Brad almost had to back up a Banshee who was trying to cool a potential problem in the bar. I drank two margaritas and a Budweiser, and I met Patty, and Christy Kirby, who knows my mom. We talked about how men have testosterone and women have pheromones, and how men will always go for the women who will use them rather than the good girls, and vice versa.

When we decided to go home, I accidentally tripped on the step out the door at the Double R, and landed on the concrete with a skinned knee and elbows. Brad thought I hurt myself, and asked, “All you alright?”

“Yes, I just need the courage to get back up.” The wind had been knocked out of me, but I got up, and walked to the van and we went home and finished up the night.

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