here's to turning 30-

here’s a riddle for you kids:

what starts with being sick TWICE before the first drink of the evening, has girls climbing street signs and a limo of 6 HOT chick (and one guy) in the middle, and ends with crawling through a window at 2am in a party dress?

MY BIRTHDAY BITCHES 

so. i’m officially 30 now. i have to admit that i’ve had a few moments of feeling old and inadequate since the official day. not like anything magically changed overnight but suddenly i’m feeling the need to get rid of the blue short spiky hair, get a purse that costs more than my car, and start having dinner parties discussing 401K and retirement options.

stupid thirties.

I TAKE THAT BACK. i HEART my 30’s already- for no other reason than this: they HAVE to be better than my 20’s. i mean honestly, they have statistics on their side. my 20’s consisted of having a second baby, marriage, divorce, losing my brother, grandmother, father, and step-mother. so. you know. of those, only two could POSSIBLY happen again, and even then, the chances of that are slim to none (depending on how vegas goes). so here’s to the 30’s being WAY better than the 20’s!

but- back to the birthday. seriously people? re-dic-u-lous. i would post a picture (yes, there are a FEW pictures) but in order to protect the not-so-innocent, i will refrain. but here’s a mental picture for you: imagine the victoria’s secret annual underwear fashion show. all those crazy hot models? throw them in a limo, add champagne, toss me in the mix, and there’s my birthday. if i remember correctly, one of our gals was even underwear fashion show dressed- that is to say a men’s white dress shirt and little else. I LOVE MY GIRLS.

the evening started at my house- my girls thankfully agreed to come over and help me get ready since my knowledge of make-up/party-getting-ready extends to…well…nothing. so all my gorgeous ladies (and one guy!) arrived, wine was opened, party favors passed around, and the evening was off to a great start.

one of my gorgeous girls came to the rescue somehow digging through my meager supply of makeup to pull out a killer katy perry look for me for the evening and then finishing it off by making my hair do amazing things that it usually laughs at me for attempting (one of these days i HAVE to buy a ratting comb and other essential hair supplies).

but- back to those party favors- turns out they were slightly anti-party favors for me- something did NOT agree with me at all. not sure if it was the wine, my pre-party-excitement, the mexican from lunch, or some unknown birthday hating super-force, but something was trying to take the party out of me. i was SICK kids. we’re talking whole body numb, counting to ten, deep breathing SICK. but i was NOT going to miss my own damn birthday though. oh HELL no. you only turn 30 once. and all my girls were there- IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. now, from my perspective, the getting ready from this point on took approximately 902 hours ALL of which i was freaking out about being late and making everyone else late and harshing the mood for the whole evening. and shoes. i was so fucking worried about my shoes. i mean you REALLY don’t want to be walking around in 3” heels when you’re not feeling the best but you don’t want to be the goober in a party dress and crap shoes. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU DO? (solution: flip flops were worn to dinner while real girl shoes were carried. klassy much?) i was trying so hard to keep it together- i knew i must be taking FOREVER to try to pull myself together. kept telling myself to stay calm, it will pass, it will be fine…but 902 hours! COME ON. get it together already!

in reality i think the getting ready took about 30 minutes, we were in PLENTY of time to dinner, and no one was worried about what shoes i was wearing. but, main point, i was NOT feeling well. come hell or high water though the birthday was happening!

so. the getting ready DOES happen, i manage to get my purse/shoes/jacket together, and we make it out the door to dinner. we somehow (my girls work MAGIC people) managed to snag a table for 6 on a busy thursday night with no reservation at a little tiny bar/restaurant and dinner/drinks were ordered.

now. you know that moment when you’re not feeling well and you think to yourself: maybe if i just go ahead and get sick everything will be better? i think i even leaned over to one of my gals around this point and asked her as much. well, after much consideration (not even kidding, i had a whole internal debate with myself) and with the help of some not so great linguini with alfredo sauce, the decision was made to go ahead and be sick and see if that improved the situation.

MAGICAL!

INSTANTLY felt much better. and quite a bit like an ass at the same time. i mean REALLY- who throws up BEFORE the first drink on their THIRTIETH birthday? turns out i don’t so much party like a rock star, i party like a mathlete. -sigh- someday i’ll be one of the cool kids. my birthday was not that day.

so. back to dinner, back to my girls, back to feeling like a real human being. we finish up dinner, get ready for the limo, and i decide, just to make sure, to go be sick one more time just to make sure it’s all out of my system. YES, this was a conscious decision not an urgent need. practicality ruled at this point. i mean really- might as well while you’re somewhere “normal”. would have hated to be part way into the limo ride and have it NOT be my decision…you know what i mean. so. YES. me. sick twice before my first drink even. welcome to thirty.

now, if i haven’t mentioned already, I LOVE MY GIRLS. how many times in life can you drop the following sentence: while we were waiting outside for the limo one of our girls was practicing pole work on a no parking sign (there were pictures of that) and two were having a booty popping workshop. on the street. outside the bar with an all glass front. welcome to my birthday.

at this point in the evening, things transmogrified into something of a rap video. we all loaded into the limo for a ride up to the top of the south hill for a birthday toast. on the way we stopped to get some extra champagne (save the good stuff for the real toast!) and all my pretty maids rolled out of the limo with our ONE guy following them- i’m sure it was quite a sight from the outside looking in: limo rolls up, hot girl…hot girl…hot girl…hot girl…guy. i’m sure everyone was wondering what he was doing right…cause DAMN gina! HE knows how to party like a rock star! that’s how we roll. we cruised our way up to the top of the hill where the view was AMAZING (but really cold!), toasted the evening, and headed back down for the rest of the celebrations.

from here on out the evening was a blur of drinks (only three in total…i stayed pretty mellow), lap dances, pictures, and much merriment by all.

now. you’d think, after all that, there wouldn’t be much more to report. you’d be wrong.

at the beginning of the evening, even while not feeling well, i made sure of ONE thing: LEAVE THE DOOR UNLOCKED (well, that and to make sure there was gum in my purse…details people, details). i MADE SURE the door was unlocked. i did NOT want to have to keep track of a key or try to use it at the end of the evening. DOOR. U.N.L.O.C.K.E.D. made sure of it. so. 2 am, rolling up to my house, buzzed enough to notice, not drunk enough to lose all thought, i go to open my door. and THUNK. yes, that’s the sound of my head hitting the door when it didn’t swing wide open like it was supposed to. umm…WHAT. THE. HELL. door was unlocked. and you have to have the key to lock it, so i know no one else did that on the way out…let me try again…because maybe i just didn’t turn the knob the right way. THUNK. TWICE. maybe a little more buzzed than i thought. so i knock on the door. if someone locked it, they must be inside, right? maybe boyfriend decided to come home and wait for me. KNOCK. wait. KNOCK. wait. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. wait. nothing. and my phone is dead. DEAD. not even a hope of one quick text or call. KNOCK. wait. nothing. DAMN IT. try the other door. locked. knock. nothing. FUCK A DUCK. now what? umm…window. there has to be a window open somewhere. but they’re all really high- umm…crap. ooo…SMALL TABLE! KIDS BEDROOM WINDOW! (don’t worry, the kids weren’t home, they were safely stashed at old spawns father’s house all the way across town). SO. small table, window open. ME. CRAWLING OVER THE BRICK WINDOWSILL. 2AM. IN MY PARTY DRESS. not so delicately landing on the bedroom floor (is there a delicate way to do that? even stone cold sober?). i spring back to my feet (or crawl across the floor, same difference) and make it into my room ready to rip a new asshole into boyfriend who MUST be sleeping through the door locking and not so sober door pounding…NOTHING. there’s no one there. WHAT. THE. HELL. whatevs. i’m in. i go UNLOCK the front door, retrieve my purse, shoes and coat (i was smart enough not to try to take them all in at once), plug in my phone try to figure out what happened.

turns out boyfriend was sad not to be invited out for the evening, DID come back, took my bottle of jack daniels, LOCKED THE DOOR ON THE WAY OUT, and had himself his own little party back at his place.

-sigh-

and it gets better. saturday small spawn decided he wanted hamburgers for dinner. i go outside to fire up the bbq, take off the cover, and something drops to the ground. oh, hey, LOOK: A SPARE FUCKING KEY. on the bbq. the one i had to move out of the way to get to the kids bedroom window. a spare key to the front door. you know…incase i ever happen to lock myself out and don’t want to look like a complete ass crawling through one of my windows…

apparently turning 30 doesn’t make you any smarter.

BUT: the birthday was a GREAT success. if this was any indicator to how vegas will go in october- holy hell will that be a trip! it was an EXCELLENT evening, a great way to start a new year of being around on this rock. i ADORE all the girls (and guy!) that took time out to come celebrate with me. i said it at dinner, i’ll say it again now for any that happen to read this: it means the WORLD, especially in the middle of everything that’s going on, to have PEOPLE around. i don’t give a rat’s ass about things or intentions or any of that crap. having people THERE. having people in person to laugh with and raise hell with. having them plan it all and put it all together and making extra effort to make sure it wasn’t just a regular birthday. knowing all the should have beens associated with the day and making sure to replace them with OH HELL YES IT WAS. i can’t even begin to say how much it meant.

so. here’s to 30. and friends. and love. and support. and limo rides. and lap dances. and all the fun.