Have ya'll ever seen this man? Better known as THE MAN on this blog.
Warning: That is one sneaky boy in that picture right there.
Even though he knows I have control issues,
Even though he has heard me say time and time again that I don't like surprises,
Even though he has only met my oldest friends once or twice in the last eight years,
Even though there were probably a thousand things he would rather be doing,
SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY!!!!!
It all started a couple of weeks ago while discussing birthday plans. I had spent so much money just trying to get the teenaged Divas in school that I just didn't see any way to make big plans. Schedules were crazy, funds were low, and quite frankly I wasn't too concerned. Yes, I was getting another year older, but it wasn't one of the "biggies". It wasn't one of those numbers that ends with a "zero". There was no milestone attached to this anniversary of the day that I shot out of my mother's lady parts.
So we decided (he coerced me and I followed along like a well-behaved sheep) that we would have dinner on the way to a shopping location out of town, do some browsing and maybe a small amount of purchasing, then return home.
One of the towns on our way to our shopping destination is my old hometown. The birthplace of me. A veritable Smallville, US of A. And it was decided that dinner would be eaten there. Then we would proceed to shopping.
Did I mention that The Man was taking me to a Bass Pro Shop?
I joked on facebook and to friends that I was definitely getting some new rubber hip-waders for my birthday. Hopefully in pink camo, because nothing says sexy like a woman in a rubber half-suit.
(I did not get these for mah birthday. I am not sad about that.)
What I did get was a surprise party. My very first. The Man had contacted my friends and family and arranged everything. Food? Check. Cake? Check. Friends? Check. Booze? Double-check.
I had dinner with family and friends and drinks with friends that have only drank once or twice legally with me ever. We will not discuss drinks consumed while we were all of tender ages.
Long story short, (HA! fat chance of that) there was much merriment. I heard stories of niece's soccer games, cousin's motorcycles, sister's concert trips, friends dating woes.
I ran in circles around tables while being chased by by small children, ate fried chicken with people I love and laughed so hard that I probably ruptured that bladder repair that I had in '97.
Several hours and a goodly amount of bourbon (thank you Maker's Mark for your contribution to my party-ness) we all hugged and hugged and hugged and said good-bye. Now at this point my buzz was about a 7 on a scale of ten. Which means that I was dangerously close to being that silly-ass drunk girl that hangs all over everybody and can't speak in complete sentences. It was a good time to go home, is all I'm saying.
Have you ever tried to sit still, all drunk and shit on the back of a motorcycle and maintain? It's a lifeskill I have recently acquired. It does help tremendously to have a big strong man to hold on to. So I did. For an hour. It was like the Olympic trials of drunk backseat motorcycling. And I won. Even though at one point I was singing silly songs to the night sky and grinning way too much for the number of bugs flying down the highway at me. Style points deducted - me.At the end of the night, it was a wonderful surprise that has left me smiling through the pounding hangover the next day.
Since that night I have drastically changed. I love surprise parties.
Thank you again and again and again to everyone that attended. I love ya'll more'n strippers love body glitter.