Will you pardon some real self-indulgence? Yesterday, by coincidence, was both Tracie's birthday and mine. Also Lance Bass. And Audrey Hepburn, wherever she is. I IM'd with Tracie a bit; neither of us had big plans. I don't ever do much to celebrate, and a rainy Monday's not the most festive, but even so: the day did not end up being what I had in mind.

We didn't have much planned, but because I've been in low spirits lately, we'd decided to go out for dinner. Then my boyfriend fell ill, and he's one of these people who, on those rare occasions when he does get sick, gets really sick. So our dinner was out. Nursing was in. We had macaroni and cheese, and when I realized it was only six, I made a little cake. When anyone called or emailed, they'd ask what I was doing to celebrate. "That's not much of a birthday," remarked my mother doubtfully. Later, she called back to make sure my spirits were okay. Other people seemed to agree with her. Wasn't I going out with friends, people demanded? At least having a drink? Well, no.

For most of the day I was fine, and then, as I ran him a bath with a special decongestant eucalyptus soak, I found tears of self-pity running down my cheeks. Everyone was right! This sucked! The humble lemon cake sitting on the counter suddenly seemed to me unspeakably tragic, my own behavior that of a saintly martyr. I told myself to think of poor children in other countries, of my own great-grandparents who, in the old country, I'm told "didn't have birthdays." Of lonely people with no one to sent them cheering Facebook messages or give them beautiful cocktail hats (my gift from my boyfriend.) It didn't help; it just made me feel like a worm, but still sad.

Still sitting on the bathroom floor, I examined the question. What, really, is a birthday? A designated day when we're supposed to feel special? When you think about it it's arbitrary and stupid. What was I, I berated myself? One of these women who needs to be treated like a princess because she's graced everyone with her presence for another year? What did I want, a national holiday?

The bath was ready and I called my boyfriend in. He was feverish and achy. While he soaked I read aloud from the new book I'd been given, about Yves Saint Laurent and Karl Lagerfeld in 1970s Paris, which proved to be highly entertaining. After changing the sheets, I tucked him in and iced the cake, soaking it first in lemon syrup, then frosting it with butter, cream, lemon and powdered sugar. We ate it while we watched the second installment of an American history documentary I'd ordered from Netflix. I thought about the year, and how bad my depression had been at points, the experiments with different medications and the lows so low that I didn't want anything so much as to evaporate. The loss of interest in food, in weather, in history, in 80s miniseries, even in dolls. How hard it had been on my family and friends, and especially my boyfriend who'd borne the brunt of it. And then the cycle of guilt that eats at you when you thought you couldn't get any lower or feel more worthless than you already did.

This sounds lame, but there's a notebook where I write down things that have made me happy, an almost superstitious practice I started a few years ago as an extra talisman when things got bad. I keep it by the bed, and I reached for it now. I hadn't written in it for a while; the last entries were, besides the names of some friends, "A Band of Bees: 'A Minha Menina'"; "bohemians down the street have doll head in yard"; "really nice person checked me out at Whole Foods, Union Sq." I added "cocktail hat." I went back to the documentary, safe in the knowledge that we could go out to dinner another time.

This is a thorny issue we're not unfamiliar with — Jessica's interview with author Janellle Brown touched on it memorably. Said Brown, who had written up just such a scene in her book All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, "There's always this awkward shuffle around the bill. Money definitely creates this imbalance, especially because in creative worlds it seems like it flows so easily and quickly, particularly when you're not the one getting it." These are issues that we're all aware of to one degree or another, but rarely are we forced to deal with these ugly realities except in the case of the birthday dinner. Sure, any dinner with friends can fall into this trap, but it's only in the case of a birthday that the facts are inarguable, on another's terms, a veritable test of your loyalty.

Swansburg defines it thusly:

As my friends moved from graduate programs and entry-level positions into decent-paying jobs, a birthday meet-up at a dive bar to pound SoCo-and-lime shots started to feel a shade déclassé. Yet everyone was still living in small studio or one-bedroom apartments—no place for a proper cocktail party. The compromise: People started celebrating their birthdays by inviting friends out to dinner, typically at a moderately fancy restaurant. The kind of place that frowns on bringing your own candles and Cookie Puss but isn't averse to sticking a sparkler in a crème brûlée.

He proposes three courses of action: shamelessly arranging your own check with the waiter; attempting to keep the bill down; resigning yourself and getting a good, partially-subsidized meal out of the ordeal. He readily admits that none is without its pitfalls. Having tried all of these with varying degrees of success, and having often ended such a meal feeling resentful, frustrated and broke, I've been giving this sort of thing a lot of thought lately. My boyfriend is of the school that brings his own flask and a wax-paper-wrapped sandwich to restaurants, which is not the solution. Recently a successful friend with a good job came to New York eager to paint the town red for her birthday. I simply didn't know how to say, "I can't afford that" without feeling like a killjoy or forcing her to pick up the tab. I know people who gripe about being broke right before the check arrives and it's far from comfy. Ultimately, I suggested a bunch of "creative" alternatives and hole-in-the walls I'd been wanting to try, and we did that instead, to everyone's satisfaction. But when can we get to the point where we can talk about this stuff openly? When it comes to someone's birthday, probably never.

Obviously a sensitive friend should be aware of the discrepancies in income and plan accordingly, but as we all know this is not always the case and it's easy for people to forget the difficulties of a really limited income. Then too, even the best-laid plans at the most modest restaurant can go up in a blaze of wine snob/"let's-all-share-starters/why not get champagne/let's try all the desserts!" glory at the hands of one enthusiastic bon vivant. One cheapskate throwing a $10 on the table and sitting back smugly, or somebody who didn't realize a place was cash only, costs everyone extra — and there's always one such person.

The only solution is to not go; create a prior engagement and suggest a dinner a deux at a later date. Alternatively, come late in the evening, after people have eaten. If such subterfuge goes against the grain, I can only say, people who want to make a big celebration of their birthdays as an adult (and I sort of fall into this) tacitly hold to the childhood rule that a birthday person is somehow special and should not be judged or confronted on an arbitrary date designated for self-celebration. And it must be said: there are certain infantile individuals who regard a disinclination to spend and show and duly worship the birthday person as a breach of friendship and tacit protocol. Obviously no one should be friends with such a person anyway (even though we all have been at different times) and if a friendship ends over such a trifle, well then, so much the better. Here is what we can do. Every one of us, individually, can take steps to stop this pernicious trend. I propose a new one: the brisk birthday walk. If necessary, the walk can take one through a supermarket that offers samples. They will probably be playing music too! Specify no gifts, and at the end of the evening pass a hat around — let's call a spade a spade.

Happy Birthday, You Bastard [Slate]

Earlier: This Is Not Chick Lit: A Q&A With Writer Janelle Brown

Even though she appears to be wearing a diaper, Courtney Love is so cool whilst performing that she pulls it off. To quoth the bard Sandler: If peeing your pants is cool, Courtney's Miles Davis!
Joey McIntyre of NKOTB continues to be a font of cuteness in a world gone mad. Does he have some Dorian Grayish deal with the devil?
The infamous Playboy Mansion Grotto! It looks relatively tame here, but those rocks have seen things that are illegal in at least 40 states.
It's not a party without the star of a network tv sitcom present! Here's Chuck's Zachary Levi with an unidentified party-goer.

Related: 'The Electric Company' Powers Up Again [EW]

Section 1: How You Approach Life and How You Appear To Others

The following is a description of your basic stance towards life, the
way others see you, the way you come across, the face you show to the world.
In Chapter 3 you will read about the "The Inner You: Your Real Motivation",
which describes the kind of person you are at heart and where your true
priorities lie. Read this chapter and the next one and compare them - there
may be significant differences between them, in which case "the inner you"
may not shine through and others are in for some surprises when they get to
know you at a more than superficial level. This chapter describes the
costume you wear, your role in life, while Chapter 3 talks about the real
person inside the costume.

Leo Rising:

Ferociously proud and somewhat vain, you like to be impressive and to be
seen as Somebody Special. You are not timid, meek, or self-effacing, and are
rarely content being in the background or in the subordinate position. You
are a natural leader, and do not take orders from others very well. You must
have something of your own, something creative - be it a business, a
project, a home or whatever - that you can develop and manage according to
your own will and vision. Whatever you do, you do it in a unique, dramatic,
individual way. You like to put your own personal stamp on it.

You also have a very strong sense of dignity, self-respect, and personal
honor and are deeply offended if someone treats you in a humiliating or
dishonorable way. You will rarely confront the offender - you are too proud to do so - but you will lose your affection and respect for them. You dislike pettiness and hate to be snubbed or ignored.

You admire others who are strong individuals like yourself. When you befriend someone, you are tremendously loyal, sincere, and willing to go to extraordinary lengths to make that person happy. You are very giving and generous, but your gifts are never anonymous - you expect recognition and appreciation for them. You also expect the intense loyalty that you offer to your dear ones to be reciprocated. However, you often have trouble working with people who are as strong as yourself, for you do not really cooperate or share the leading role very easily. If you are not in the leading role, you aspire to be and will compete with the person who is.

You have great heart and courage, and people often look to you for strength, encouragement, and affirmation. You always have your best face forward and rarely allow others to see you hurting, disheartened, or vulnerable. You also have a very strong need for love, admiration, appreciation, and praise, although you don't like others to realize just how important it is to you.

Your outlook on life tends to be very personal and rather self-centered. Your own self-expression, self-actualization and self-realization interests you more than anything else. You feel that if you do your best where you are, the rest of the world will take care of itself.

This goes on for about 23,000 more words, but I'm going to stop and encourage you to watch this instead:

Earlier: What To Expect Of A One Year Old

• Remember how, before Sofia Coppola was a fashion icon and Marc Jacobs muse and celebrity spokesmodel for numerous fashion labels, she actually worked in fashion and had her own clothing line? Yeah, well the clothing line actually still exists, in Japan. [Sassybella]
  
• Also, Marc Jacobs' new fragrance Daisy has its own film. Sigh. [Sassybella]
  
• The new face of lingerie line Agent Provocateur is Catherine Bailey. Who is 46 years old. We think this is pretty awesome, but we fear the dreaded Photoshop of Horrors. [Sassybella]
  
• Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour celebrated a birthday on Saturday! Maybe you want to send your belated birthday wishes to the Conde Nast building? [Fashion Week Daily]

• Tai-chi inspired lounge wear is the new yoga-inspired lounge wear! And Celine spokeswoman/actress Emmanuelle Seigner is teaming up with the Celine design team to create a line of it. (Actual model Karen Elson will take over.) [WWD, 1st item]
• See these Ferragamo flats? They cost $395. I got identical flats at Dolce Vita on sale for $30. [FabSugar]
• Yves Saint Laurent designer Stefano Pilati on being a child of divorce: "I was always the kid - I had to be careful how to express things, I could never be aggressive. Then my sexuality developed into homosexuality. And I think that this helped me, in the sense that I finally had the chance to understand a man's world, from the inside....I never liked [my father]. I went through so many things in my life by myself, I didn't need him, but I needed a man, I needed a father. So I got used to the idea, and grew up making my own decisions." [Vogue UK]