Just to bring everyone up to speed...Friday was my birthday. I am aware that 33 is not a milestone or anything, like turning 21 or turning 40, but I don't usually kick up a big deal about my birthday. My birthday celebrations have been hit or miss, and usually amounts to a quiet dinner, or an extra nap.
When I turned turned 5, we had a big party. I wore a green dress with a picture of Big Bird on the front. My parents hired Rusty the Clown to entertain.
I had a birthday party when I was in the 4th grade. It was a roller skating party, and I invited a handful of friends. My own personal bully at the time demanded to be invited as well, and I caved. Unfortunately, that little olive branch didn't defray any future torment. That sea cow terrorized all through junior high. Dirty crunt.
Being how this is the year of the H-Train (me), I figured that the birthday ought to go with much fanfare. Or a little fanfare at least. I gathered the night shift posse and made a plan. Much of it didn't come together for until the night before.
I had made a dinner reservation for 6pm at a local Japanese restaurant, and predictably, everyone was late. The restaurant workers were not too impressed. Among us were: Tweener, Smo, Indy, Toph, Brother, No-Nickname Friend, B-Ram, Mom, and Mr. Recommendation.
I guess I should mention I was rocking the Apple Bottom jeans. I also went shopping earlier that day and found a cute, spring-like top with a low cut. Not having a bra that I could wear with said shirt, I also found a bra that would accommodate the shirt (and my boobs). Incidentally, the bra happened to be one of those push-up ones. The Girls were, uhhh, extremely noticeable...even from Gardner, Kansas. I know this because Indy could see them from his porch.
Anyway, we sit at our little table, and the guy at the next table keeps staring at me (or rather, my ginormous boobs). It also doesn't help that Mr. Recommendation keeps referring to me (loudly) as "the girl with big tits". Thankfully, the waitress reminds him that they are in a family establishment (I had only said the very same thing five times already), and he cans the big tits talk.
Mr. Recommendation, while nice and good to my mother, is funny only 25% of the time, and not for his lack of trying. His jokes are often met with that awkward silence. If you can't tell a funny joke, don't tell anything. Policy.
Dinner moves along, with the food being pretty good in terms of Japanese steakhouses. At the end of dinner, Mr. Recommendation and Mom announce they have hired a limo to drive us for the night. Of course, I think they are bullshitting me, but apparently, everyone was in on it.
We stop at Price Chopper for some libations as the limo only provides a bag of ice. I stop in the middle of the parking lot for an impromptu booty shake when Tweener turns up the volume on her stereo. Mom spots this and gasps.
Everyone gets back to my house where go we between my house, and Mom's house, until our ride shows up. A white stretch limo. Everyone piles in and we are off to our first stop: The Drop.
While we were there, more people joined us and fun and frivolity. There was my friend Dub, as well as Sader Mama, The Librarian, and Fate. Dub left his car and joined us in the limo while the others met up with us at our last stop: Tootsies.
Say what you will about it being a dive, but they have a good dance floor, play good music, and drunk men are not slobbering all over you. Drunk lesbians seem to exhibit a little more self control and respect, which make for a very low-pressure, hassle-free dance environment. However, I failed to warn Mom about the unisex bathroom, and she got the shock of her life went she needed to go. Oops. My bad.
Now, here is where I can't really go into what happened there with my roving band of birthday celebrators. I guess you just had to be there to be in the know. Sorry!
After a few hours at Tootsies, we decided to wrap things up and go back to my house. Besides, limo guy was charging by the hour. The limo ride back home was entertaining as there were lesbians making out, and Indy was very, very excited about this not-so-new development. We played a little game of "I've Never..." and I got to know my coworkers very, very well.
At home, drunk nurses aplenty!! And they all want breakfast. B-Ram starts singing about wanting pancakes. I don't want to cook pancakes. So, I toss some pre-made bacon in the microwave. Soon, the smell of bacon fills the house. Bacon makes everyone happy. We run out of bacon and I produce real bacon from the fridge. Indy, who has more experience drunk-cooking than anyone of us combined, starts the task of making breakfast. He gets the bacon started, finds my big bag of hash browns in the freezer and dumps the entire contents into the smallest frying pan I own. At this point, he apparently decides that he has made his contribution to breakfast, and just goes into the living room and lies on the floor.
From here, Toph takes over cooking duties and finishes the bacon and the hash browns. I finish the meal by scrambling a buttload of eggs and tossing cheese into the pan.
Breakfast is served! However, everyone else is now passed out in the living room.
Assholes. Next time, I'm just throwing them a box of frozen waffles.
As the morning went on, people come to and drag themselves home. Only two people eat the massive breakfast that has been prepared. Indy doesn't even touch a plate, but decides barfing in the toilet would be a much better option. Good thing Brother cleaned his bathroom before.
All weekend, those who attended have been rehashing the events of Friday night. Somethings come as revelation to those who can't remember. Indy tried to claim he couldn't remember anything about that night until I called bullshit on him. I have his ass nailed, and he knows it. Hee!
A good time had by all. I don't think I will ever celebrate a birthday in the grand fashion that I rung in my 33rd year, but who knows what 34 will bring?