This past weekend, I re-invented the art of a birthday celebration. D
on't throw yourself into a frenzy. I am still a quarter of a century old. It wasn't my birthday. It was a very close friend of mine's, the age-before-you-might-be-considered-old's birthday. She invited her closest girlfriends, including myself, out for the three big D's: dinner and drinks and debauchery.We began dinner at a local restaurant on their outdoor deck. (Actually, we finished dinner there too. Betcha didn't catch that grammatical error. Anyway..) I was in a feisty mood, as were most of the other ladies, so we ordered a round of Lemon Drop Martinis, Margaritas, Wine, & the like. Our first round became our second and after our second, we found ourselves ordering drinks that begin with phrases like "Bottle of..." and/or "Pitcher of..." Needless to say, we had a little too much fun, but that's bound to happen when great women like ourselves get a chance to get out together.
After dinner, we hopped in the car with our sober driver and pumped up the 90's on 9 channel, my personal favorite. We participated in a rousing, high-school style sing-a-long en route to downtown PlaceWhereIComeFrom, the haven for yet more libations. We arrived at a local bar in uplifted spirits, only to find a front row parking place. Sweet!
I need to take a moment to back up. I'm always terrible at leaving out essential threads of a story and thus making the ending predictable. Anyway, I drove myself to the restaurant earlier in the night. After an unexpected amount of drinky, I made the always-responsible decision to ride with someone I had just met. (Good thing she's one of Birthday girl - Amazon Ally's dear friends.) All of this was done with the assurance from Muscles that he would pick me up when I became ready to leave.
Anyway, we continued to have a blasty-blast, with the exception of the appearance of PsychoBitch. (Refer to Amazon for backstory -- Not mine to tell.) This particular bar that we were avid patrons of closes at midnight, a full hour and a half prior to the surrounding bars. When Amazon had had enough, she decided we would leave when this bar closed. Coincidentally, a couple of mine and Muscles' (mostly his) close guy friends showed up downtown around that time. I said hello cordially but shooed them away, not wanting them to rain on the all-female party we were having. I make the admittedly hazy decision that I will pop over to say hello when the birthday girl leaves and THEN call Muscles to hop in the Batmobile and swing through to get me. What can I say? I'm a social butterfly on occasion and I wanted to say hello to some friends I rarely see.
So... This all goes according to plan. I tell AA happy birthday and then head over. This is the kind of night downtown that I used to love. It seems like EVERYONE is out. I talked to everyone for maybe, 15-20 minutes, and then decided I missed my Muscles and was ready to leave. I went outside, plopped down on a park bench, and gave him a ring. Nothing. I called again. Nothing. (Nothing equals voicemail, Bee Tee Dubya) I called approximately 75 more times. Not really. In reality, I called about 15 more times, which is still a great deal. My Lemon Drop Brain was starting to think I was stranded downtown. Uh-Oh!
I called up my BFF. He's not really my BFF. He's Muscles' BFF, but it's fun to call him that considering we had what one might call a "rough patch" in the beginning of our friendship. Anyway, I ask him if he's talked to Muscles tonight.
"Yeah, about an hour ago, why?" BFF asks.
I tell him the story. He LAUGHS. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with men? (Refer to previous post for additional evidence.) I ask BFF to call Muscles because maybe my calls are not going through. He refuses and laughs some more. I might add that this situation is most often reversed, and I am equally unforgiving. Comin' back to bite me now, BIG time.
I end the convo somewhere around this time.
I then head back inside to ask the two afore mentioned friends if they can take me home. (One of them lives less than 3 miles from me, and I live FAR out.) He says sure, he'll take me as far as my road. Again, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIS MALE BRAIN? That would be about a 3 mile hike for me home, in the dark, with the coyotes, in a skirt. No!
I head back outside to call Muscles because his (not ours, anymore) friends are big jerks. Fifteen or more calls later, I get through. Muscles claims he had no service. He was sounding a bit groggy. I was unimpressed, but I was too happy that I wasn't abandoned to care. He was en route in the batmobile. YES!
As I waited the 20 or so minutes for him to arrive, the intelligent, responsible people came out of the woodwork. Friends and acquaintances waited with me and offered to pay for cab rides home. Of course, I didn't need help anymore, but I was grateful. I also chose to use this time to cheerfully call all of my best friends for a leisurely chat. Guess how many answered at 1 AM? It was dismal.
Twenty minutes later, Muscles swooped me up in the Batmobile and we headed home. I insisted on a cheeseburger before bed, so he even obliged stopping somewhere along the way to get me one. We got back to our house in one piece, Muscles still groggy and myself savoring the thoughts of that cheeseburger. Somewhere along this time, the Lemon Drop Brain hit me. OH to tha NO. I sent Muscles to sleepytime, and I decided to stay on the couch until I sobered up a bit. Afterall, I hadn't behaved like this is quite some time, and I was concerned about the after effects in the morning. I think I sleepwalked after this. I can't be sure. I know I was falling asleep on the couch and then...
I woke up at 6:45 AM (You guessed it.) in my own bed. I looked at peaceful, snoring Muscles and shook my head around a little to check for a headache. Nothing. I looked down. I was also wearing something quite different from what I went gallivanting around in last night. Hm. How did that happen? I nudged Muscles and asked, "Did you come get me from the couch last night?"
"No. I've been sleepin'. I'm still sleepin'. I love you." he mumbles.
I was so confused. I felt as if I had been body snatched. Okay... So I decide I need to hydrate myself in order to continue to feel alive. I walk down the stairs slowly and focus my sleepy eyes on our coffee table as I put together the pieces of what I'm looking at.
There, on our antique trunk of a makeshift coffee table, is a row of items. First, is the top of my bun from my cheeseburger the night before, half eaten, of course. Next, is a small, neat stack of pickles. After the pickle tower, is a small pile of bacon. Next to that is the actual cheeseburger. And after that, is the other partially eaten half of the bun. Neatly. In a row. Like I was playing a game with them at 2 AM. Hm...
I got my glass of water, and climbed back up the stairs to snuggle back in with my husband. Happy Birthday, dear Ally. We had a blast. :)
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