I know it’s been awhile since my last post, like almost two weeks. And I know it’s been killing you, checking here everyday (don’t lie, you were) and not seeing anything new. Allow me to make it up to you by giving you a rousing rendition of birthday madness.
As ya’ll know (or should know), it was my 34th birthday on Saturday. Mom, Katy and I went to a cute little bistro for some lunch, where I spent an insane amount of time voodooing people with my eyes, trying to get them to go away so we could have their table. I’ll admit … I don’t do well with patience. Especially when hungry. Cuz I was thisclose to stealing their kettle chips. And I wouldn’t even have felt guilty about it. Better than a karate chop to the throat, I always say.
Especially when you’re 90.
Anyway.
Here’s a photo:
Ya’ll have about two seconds to tell me how fabulous I look without glasses. And that my right eye is NOT bigger than the left and is, in fact, perfectly proportioned on my face.
Later in the day, I force my entire family to waste an entire tank of gas to drive to a fancy restaurant about an hour away. And because I am the birthday girl, nobody argues with that kind of logic. The restaurant is called The Shebang, it is pink, and it is FABULOUS. Part early-1920s ballroom and part late-1800s whorehouse, the restaurant was quite an atmospheric experience.
Here’s me and Brad:
Not a huge fan of this photo, although I kept the fleshy arm down and away from bright lights. Good call on my part, trust me.
Then we took this photo:
That be mama and her adoring children. And of course, since the night was all about ME, I had to have her stand on my side and put her hand on my shoulder. In a “you are my favorite child” gesture sort of way. It is to make up for the computer she never bought me. Although she did get me a kick ass electric typewriter. So who can complain about that?
Here is a list for mother to jot down and keep with her at all times. You know, in case she forgets how 72 hours of labor pain was absolutely worth it:
#1 — I keep you perpetually young. That is what happens when your oldest still acts (and looks) like a 16-year-old.
#2 — I extend your life. Cuz that is what laughter does, and no one makes you laugh like I do. NOBODY.
#3 — I understand how you can go in coma-zone during chocolate cake. Trust me, mashed potatoes do me the exact same way.
#4 — I encourage you to be the best Debbie you can be. Didn’t mean to go buy yourself some fake boobies, but that’s okay, too.
#5 — Who else better to take care of you in your old age besides the one who knows you best? I just hope Randy’s up for it.
#6 — Er … I mean, I will take care of you. But just during TV time. Cuz I have a feeling when you are old, you will need me to do the channels, and that means endless reality TV for both of us! And probably lots and lots of plastic surgery shows.
#7 — Fine. I’ll help you during meal time, too. How else will you eat my spinach-stuffed chicken unless I make you?
#8 — And finally, probably the best reason why I am your daughter … cuz it’s funny to walk through the mall and make people think we’re lesbians.
Mama, thanks for giving birth to me 34 years ago. And trust me when I say this: I loved you even when you had brown hair and wore pantyhose with everything. Riding on the back of your bicycle and eating gigantic Hardee’s cookies with you was the time of my life. And going to the same place every year for summer vacation was just fine with me.
Plus, knowing your CB friends called you “Pockets” cracks me up to no end. And that means I’m going to live extra long, now, too.
I think we’ve done well by each other, don’t you?
