Birthday Crickets

What an exciting week! It was my engagement AND birthday week! Truth be told, it has been a whole lot of celebration for this kid. If you haven’t already gotten the vibe, I am a person who likes routine. I get grouchy when things come up unexpectedly or out of nowhere. Case-in-point: I’d rather have my Monday full of classes ending with an election chapter than any kind of holiday! Weird, but the unstructured nature of a holiday freaks me out. In the same way that I hate crickets, I hate holidays. Both are unpredictable and bound to take about a bazillion different jumps.

To me, birthdays are even worse than a holiday. It is a holiday dedicated to one person. Talk about pressure! Especially if you don’t like attention…. Like me! People are wishing you happy birthdays in person, through cards, by means of texting, via facebook, and through twitter. I gave up saying individual thank yous about 2 years ago. It should just be understood that I can’t keep up with the facebooking. (I want to delete that thing! But how would I announce my blog…? Thus why it stays.) With twitter, I can reply for the most part. And I am still polite in semi-person (texting) and of course in person, but between my engagement and birthday… The facebook page has grown out of control. I have NEVER had so many wall posts in my time on facebook. People come out of the wood works to congratulate and wish birthday cheer. It is never good when you receive a notification from a name that you don’t even recognize. My iPhone was BLOWING UP all week… I guess my point is, I appreciate all the wishes, and I would like the thank everyone.

So what did I do for my 22nd birthday? Well, in order for everyone to value my night… You need to know my history with birthday parties. I have never had an abundance of friends. I tend to stick to about 5. This caused a tiny problem when it came to birthday time. Doli likes to party. Whether it is her 13-year-old daughter’s party or her own “Doli Party Weekend Bash.” (Yes, there were t-shirts.) She goes all out, and that means a lot of people. There are three birthdays that stick out to me before this past one.

When I was turning 9, I desperately wanted a Chuck-E-Cheese party. I was that kid who saved her tickets in a gallon size, freezer, zip-lock bag. I anticipated the day I could get the awesome green and black lava lamp that was worth a million tickets. I heard a rumor that if it was your birthday you got extra tokens. More tokens equal more tickets. See where I am going with this? Well, after invitations were sent out, my mom decided that there weren’t enough RSVPs to make the pipe dream happen. In order to not crush my heart, she thought it would be a fabulous idea to do a joint party for my sister and me. That is all and well except Mackenzie and I are like water and vinegar. I didn’t protest too much, because I had my eye on the prize. The. Lava. Lamp. When it came party time, lets just say that 4 of my friends showed up, and Mackenzie stole my tickets. Suck-E-Cheese Party of 1997.

The next memorable birthday would be in 2004. Sweet Sixteen. Still having problems in the friend department. Even so, Doli dreamed up the fantasy of a surprise birthday party. The venue? Laser tag. Of course… What 16-year-old girl wouldn’t want to run around sweaty with a laser gun and a 5 lb. vest strapped around her body with glowing targets on her birthday? There were 30 people invited to my party. My best friend was the decoy to get me to the venue, and she did a great job keeping the surprise on the down low. So good that only 3 people showed up. But to be fair, there were 8 people total at the party. Doli, Joe, Mac, me, best friend and the 3 guests. The party was such a dud that we ended up playing one game of tag and finishing up at TGIF’s for a celebratory dinner. You can do spontaneous things such as that when there are only 8 people.

My 21st birthday party was not typical. I was in the middle of teaching my soil science lesson plans in a real life classroom, thus I wasn’t too keen on going out for the typical celebration. I mean I wouldn’t respect a hung over college student teacher if I were in high school. Even scarier, I thought of being hung over and trying to tame the bratty junior boys who had already successfully tricked me into thinking their names were Lewis and Clark. Like the explorers. Well, that birthday year, my parents came to Stillwater and we went to Louie’s for dinner. It was really chill and low key. I had my first legal alcoholic drink, and enjoyed my family’s company. Fun fact: I actually didn’t grace the bars until March of 2010. I suppose this can be attributed to my less than enthusiastic attitude towards social atmospheres.

This year was a COMPLETELY different story. I was feeling like I had missed out the year before and I wanted to make up for lost time. (Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.) With the help of a very dear friend, I was able to have dinner with about 20 women who I love and adore very much. Yes. I purposely typed 20. There were 20 women who took time to celebrate with me! I couldn’t ever describe to you how much it meant to me. However, there was one glitch to the night.

At Texas Roadhouse, they do a malicious ritual to someone who claims it’s their birthday. In general, I will never understand any restaurant’s fascination with embarrassing people on their birthdays. And by embarrassment, I mean humiliate. At Roadhouse, they do it up in a way that can only be described as cruel and unusual. Now I was fully aware of this when I chose the restaurant. I wasn’t too concerned because I knew my sisters would NEVER do that to me. Should of known better. I was blind-sided halfway through dinner by a screaming blonde waitress. She declared it was my birthday and insisted I mount a saddle on wheels. Holy crap. Which sister would be shanked for pulling this stunt? Two margaritas had not jaded me enough to do such a ridiculous act. Laughing awkwardly and uncomfortably, I slowly got on top of the invisible horse. I began to cry. Some thought it was because I was laughing so hard. This was incorrect. These were tears of shock and embarrassment. After saying a meek, “Yee-haw,” I was allowed off the saddle. The waitress gave me a bowl of ice cream and said Happy Birthday. After all of that, they gave me ice cream. Y’all. I am lactose intolerant. Not cool. No sister claimed to have told the waitress, but I have my guesses! All I have to say is what goes around, comes around.

Anyways…. After a lovely dinner, a group of us headed over to the strip. I would love to describe the night to you, but I feel like what happens on the strip with me, stays on the strip. It was nothing terrible, but definitely a top night. Some snip-its I would like to share with you:

- Men with Mohawks love to dance.
- Techno music is very convincing.
- Bachelor parties can be planned by newly acquainted men.
- College Bar’s mixed drinks are basically shots.
- The tables at College Bar are very slippery. Be careful with your drinks!
- You have to be smarter than the girls’ bathroom lock.
- Received a name for me and Rob: Cambob
- Cowboy hats are not TOO out of place at College Bar.
- You get free shots at College Bar if it’s your birthday. Just show your ID.
- Never underestimate MLZ… or at least the 5 of us that ventured to the strip that night.

Well, needless to say, 22 was definitely top notch. It smashed the Chuck-E-Cheese debacle and absolutely decimated the laser tag disaster. It trumped my fake 21, and I can confidently say it re-opened my Grinchy heart to the possibility of a great Birthday. But not to get carried away or anything… Let me make it very clear—I still loathe unstructured, crickety, holidays.

Special Shout Out to Kylie Dixon. The reason for a successful 22. =) I love you dearly.