First of all, thank you for all of your fabulous birthday wishes last week! Seriously, each one made my day a little bit brighter, and I feel gratitude from the bottom of my boogity-boogity shoes. *MWAH* to all of my darling FOOBHS!!
I am back today after having pretty much unplugged myself from the Matrix since last Wednesday, and I confess that I'm still not fully into the swing of things yet. I came into work today to find the usual piles of random paperwork and unintelligible post-it notes from my crazy-cat-lady-coworker, but after I sifted through the rubble I found that I really hadn't missed much during my 3 days off last week. Hurray!
And no, I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob.
My birthday party went off without a hitch on Saturday night! It was pretty epic, and I do believe that everyone had a really, really good time. Of course there are lots of pictures but sadly I don't have many today. For a change I didn't have my trusty Nikon attached to my wrist all night so I didn't get that many pics, however my friends Mark and Laurie spoiled me and set up a whole "red carpet" photo area complete with fancy lighting and a gorgeous custom-made background poster, so once they send me those pics we'll have lots to look at!
Wardrobe malfunctions galore.
Last week I bought a sparkly rock star dress that I love, but the material is very thin - like t-shirt thin. Since I am not a skinny minnie I was critically eying every lump and bump under the thin blue fabric, so I did what all of us ladies do in such a situation - I went to the lingerie department and bought myself a
Sounds like a great plan, right?
What nobody tells you about these modern-day torture devices is that they never stay where they're supposed to stay. Once the garment begins its steady retreat towards your waist (as they ALL do) the flab that they're repressing migrates so you end up with unsightly bulges in the most bizarre places imaginable.
Therefore it came to be that my muffin top ended up somewhere just south of my bra strap all night long, so any photo of me from behind includes a stunning view of my seemingly-deformed torso. Needless to say, at some point in the evening my friend Jill and I both discarded our painful fat-compressors. Jim found mine the next morning in the back yard. Oops.
Then there was the little matter of the top half of the dress. When I purchased it I had no idea that whatever bra I wore was destined to become part of the outfit; I went with basic black, which is good because in just about every picture you can see my bra under my arms. Sigh.
My (real & spectacular) cleavage, however, looked fantastic. Everybody said so.
Thanks to our MALE photographer Mark, there are LOTS of boob-centric pics, so you're welcome in advance. Especially you, Mike129, since I know you only come here for the pics. *grin*
I'm now a gimp.
As soon as everyone arrived the men went outside and did dog-knows what and the ladies gathered in the kitchen to sample my newly-created signature cocktail, the Bevtini. It's purple and tastes like black cherry and has lots and lots of delicious vodka in it, and we all had quite a few of them. Once we were sufficiently limbered up we went out to the back yard and started the karaoke machine that Mala had rented for us as a gift, because she ROCKS.
People were singing, drinking, taking pictures in front of the "red carpet" background, and generally frolicking. I was chatting away when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Laurie grinning at me. She informed me that they were doing keg stands, and after I stopped laughing and told her that there was no fucking chance of getting me to do one, she asked me to come hold the tap into her mouth as they lifted her up.
I obliged, and no sooner had they gotten her into the air than the entire nearly-full keg and the wheelbarrow in which it sat tipped over and landed on my right foot/ankle.
Wait -- a wheelbarrow, which as we all know rests on THREE points, not four, wasn't stable?! GO FIGURE!
We wuz wicked smaht, yo.
So yeah, my ankle hurt like a mofo despite all the "anesthesia" coarsing through my veins. I immediately grabbed a chunk of ice and iced it, but it was already swelling and turning all kinds of colors. Thankfully this is when Emily brought out a tray of (purely medicinal) Tequila shots, so I don't remember it hurting much after that point.
Artist's rendering of me around 1 AM:
By 2 AM I found myself wedged onto the couch with my foot elevated with a bag of frozen vegetables draped over it.
Nothing's broken, it's just bruised as hell and swollen. And painful. Oh well!
Speaking of painful, yesterday morning was no picnic. I woke up feelin' like P. Diddy... complete with a false eyelash stuck to my forehead.
It was the stone groove, m' man. Good effing times with good effing friends! I only wish you ALL could have been there.
Hopefully tomorrow there will be more photographic proof of our