Pictured above is my Facebook status from the other day. The last line was a joke at the time, but turns out I’m psychic and had predicted the future. I should start my own 1-900 line for fortune telling. I will accept my payments in Ricola and Nyquil.
|"Fortune forecast, lucky charms!**"|
In any case, I shall not blame The Mister for bringing me what WebMD best describes as either a common cold or a terminal diagnosis.
...Or rather, I will totally blame him, but I won’t hold it against him, because he can throw one HECK of a party, and he’s got that going for him through at least the next 12 “we share everything, including the plague” episodes.
On that note, 30 has come to stay for one KpMcD. I’m not one of those gals who fears 30, and insists she’s 29 forever. I do feel like by 30 I should have had more of my life figured out. But I seem to be finding that most 30+ year olds share that thought, so I’m coming to terms there.
Past that, it’s any other old birthday, except everyone else makes it SUCH a big deal:
You’re how old? You’re turning 30!?The Big 3-Oh, eh?Well, it’s all downhill from here, right?Turning 29 for the second time, huh?So much for that biological clock then.
Having listened to this on repeat since last August when I turned 29, somewhere around March I fell prey to the hype and asked The Mister if he might please throw me a party. He very enthusiastically agreed. Because he is The Mister, and any excuse to party is a good one.
What do you want in this party? he asked. And honestly, I asked him to plan it because I had no idea. I threw some random stuff out there to give him an idea of the direction to head:
In the end, I was thinking it’ll be great and realistic if I ended up just out to dinner with some of my friends from the area. ...The Mister apparently saw this not as separate suggestions, but as a CHECK LIST instead.
Two months later and I’m still totally overwhelmed. The party was on a Saturday. But wait, let’s back up a bit. The Thursday before, The Mister’s brother had asked if he could crash on our futon overnight. He was meeting a friend in town, I was told - we should come on out to meet him and his buddy for drinks, he said.
No lie, I was honestly super frustrated with The Mister that night, as we had gone grocery shopping with the intent to grab a few items, then run back home and change into something worthy of hitting up the bar (aka not the hole-y, stained yoga pants I’d been rocking all day while cleaning… and maybe eye liner? I dunno, I tend to really like eye-liner these days). Two HOURS later, we’re loading milk and eggs into the car and one of his co-wokers calls. “Oh hey, I just flew back into town and gotta drive back out to Battle Creek tonight, but my luggage hasn’t come in yet. Would you mind picking it up?”
|I...but can we just? I need like 30 seconds. Seriously guys, those pants are horrid.|
The Mister just agrees to this request without even asking, and I’m literally crawling out of my skin with a need to put on proper pants before bar-time. “It’ll be just a minute, all I have to do is run in and run back out with the suitcase and we’ll have plenty of time to go back to the house before my brother gets here.”
He came back out with a suitcase (which, for the record, didn’t look very heavy at all), and was all “can you get out and help me get this in the back?” So I get out of the car for truly, not much more reason than to serve up a heavy dose of sarcasm, frustration, and whine. Except then MY BFF JILL poked her head around the side of the car and was all “hey, sup?”
I realized in the middle of putting this post together that whole thing was like getting to be Lottie for the weekend.
My very cultured response was “wha- shut the f up!” (super classy, I know.) And then I did that annoying thing that teenage girls do when they see someone they haven’t seen in the last 30 seconds and scream and dance and get super pumped. And then we went out for a beer in my gross yoga pants and no eye liner and it was awesome.
We hung out Friday and Saturday like we hadn’t missed a beat. Saturday morning, I realized BFF Jill was in on the plan. I had no idea what was going on, but we ended up at the spa for a mani-pedi with Jill and our friend N (PLUS I got a massage). I’m fairly certain that I have never been so relaxed and pampered. I’m also fairly certain that much relaxation made me I look like I was doing a walk of shame. It was greeeeeeat.
|hurrrrrr. back ruuuuubbbbb...|
After that we went home to gussy up. For what? I had no idea. I already felt so spoiled, going out to dinner would be such icing on the cake. So imagine my surprise when we walked out of the house to go to dinner… and I saw an em-effing limo waiting to take us.
|N and her fiance gifted me a sketchbook and some markers. |
It hame in handy almost immediately.
Our driver’s name was Bob. He was pretty fantastic. We got to dinner and met up with soo many of my favorites - including Rrralph! I got to catch up with everyone. The Mister handed me a gift*: A ring! I was officially flabbergasted at that point, because really, I would have counted just BFF Jill, or spa day, or dinner as amazing gifts on their own, and he just kept GOING with the presents.
There were Mojitos and delicious Salmon, and then back into the limo for a pub crawl including the dueling piano bar, where the evening's players sang me a very raunchy rendition of Happy Birthday. Then to top it off, Bob took us to Taco Bell.
Don’t try to tell me that the idea of a limo going to Taco Bell isn’t amusing to you.
|Also at the piano bar, we got to witness a bachelorette party go HORRIBLY wrong, |
in a "this train wreck isn't mine to deal with and therefore I find it hilarious" kind of way.
|Thanks to Bob we ALL made|
it home safe and sound.
It was perfect. It was beyond amazing. It was the greatest birthday I’ve ever had. Crap, guys, my husband is amazing.
What was the best surprise you ever got?
Does/ did 30 scare you?
Do you have any beauty routine that you are
emotionally tied to (eyeliner)?
Tell me in the comments!
*Right hand ring - with all the international travel life inevitably has in store for us, The Mister and I had been batting around the idea of a ring that, while it looks pretty on its own, and could be worn on my right hand when in normal American circumstances, perhaps it could double as a wedding ring that would be less scary to loose than a wedding ring, or pose less of a “mug me!” threat while we’re abroad.
**that's not a quote from The Princess and the Frog, it's from Robin Hood. But I had a thing going with the rest of the post, so I stuck to it.