It was the use of the phrase “party circuit” that finally put me over the edge. The phrase, you see, was used in conjunction with the word “birthday” as in “are you doing the birthday party circuit?” The term used to explain that any self-respecting modern child must first have their “actual birthday day party” with cake and presents from immediate family followed by their “class party” whereby they take treats into class. This culminates In a blow-out “theme” party for the child’s invited friends at a venue sure to impress other parents and/or break the bank. If a child should happen to suffer the misfortune of having a birthday over the summer holiday, then the only possible way to remedy this tragic situation is with something spectacular. Perhaps you could rent Disney World?

Excess. Clearly, the days of warm party punch in Dixie cups and a cupcakes homemade by the “birthday mom” are long past. Now you’ve got to really put your thinking cap on (and credit card on the line) to plan the “perfect” birthday party.

Examples of over-the-top birthday madness include:

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Obviously, I am failing to see the big picture, money wise, and for this (and my being a writer — a career path which ranks slightly lower than illegal alien bus boy in terms of financial success), I’m unlikely to ever be obscenely, or even (let’s face it) G-ratedly, rich.

Certainly, I’ll have my petty financial victories. Re-using a postage stamp that somehow missed the cancellation mark; getting an extra quarter back from an unwitting vending machine; actually remembering to mail in one of those annoying rebate forms and ultimately receiving $5 off my next software purchase (select titles, Spanish versions only).

Yet, the kind of money that allows me to, oh say, leave my house to charity and move to my Italian villa for “the season” is likely to continue to elude me.

This was painfully clear to me when I unwittingly fell into a discussion of plans for the government’s recent “economic stimulus package payment” with an investment savvy friend the other day. As he went over (and over and over and OVER) rates, points, terms, and, I don’t know, some other boring money thing, at some point all I heard was blabbity, blah, blah, blah.

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When I was a little girl, my daddy would tell me that I had champagne taste on a beer budget. He also said that I couldn’t put a penny in my pocket without it burning a hole right through. Aside from the realization that my dad wasn’t very original in his witticisms, I learned that my love for the finer things in life, paired with the inability to save money, would stick with me throughout my teenage years and right into adulthood. Most people would get a good paying career and quench their desires to spend money frivolously. Not me. What did I do? I popped out seven kids, making it pretty damn hard to squander money on the coveted True Religion jeans that make my butt look so fantastic. Even though the demands of financially providing for so many kids make it impossible to go on shopping sprees and chug two hundred dollar bottles of 1932 vintage wine, it doesn’t extinguish my champagne taste buds from yearning for the flavor of it.

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