34

And then I turned 34.

My birthday celebration this year was full of old friends and new, accidental good times and planned activities, work, play, and, of course, carrot cake.

As the five of you know, I celebrate the entire month. That sounds selfish and indulgent and narcissistic, but I'm crazy happy to be alive and know that in the timeline of human existence, my life is less than the blink of an eye. It's important to me to spend more than an hour or two being conscious of all the goodness that has made the past 34 years worth it, and a month is barely enough time to really absorb everything. As I get older there may be more to reflect on, but even I think celebrating your birth and life OUTSIDE of your birth month is an asshole thing to do.

You have my word I will never celebrate outside of the month of May. Unless my 40th birthday trip to France runs over into June. :)

The month started off with a bang. I graduated from nursing school, somehow getting an A in all three of my classes (take that, community college). We had an end of year cookout, where I started to regret not hanging out more often with some of the awesome girls I met, and then my mom and dad came to my pinning ceremony, which made it feel official. Leigh brought me flowers, Mack got done with surgery, and we all went to Sugano for sushi.

Class of 2012.

Well, Sugano didn't open until 5:30. If you don't know, Sugano is off of Eastland Drive in a strip mall of dirty. It was asking a lot of my mom and dad to go to this place, which has drying fish hanging from the workstation, in the first place, and when I asked if we could go into the Office Lounge, a dive bar down the strip that usually has someone getting arrested outside of it, I'm surprised she didn't pack us up in the van and force me into being classy. It was my day, which gave me permission to manipulate everyone around me into going into seedy bars. So that's what I did.

I sauntered through the cluster of smokers like I, in my bright red lipstick, belonged at the Office Lounge. I put my hand on the door like I, in my long black dress, owned the place. I pulled. And nothing happened. Then all the smokers, who immediately knew I was an alien and a retard, showed me the right door. Nothing like botching an entrance to a dive bar to really keep you from standing out.

We crowded into a half-circle booth while my dad bought Budweisers and was accosted by a man who wanted to split the jukebox investment with him. My dad gave him a couple bucks, and the guy played our favorite songs. None of which were our favorites and all of which had some reference to shaking it.

My dad. Clearly freaked out. Also, see that Nascar Excitement on the chalkboard? Yeah.

"Go to the Office Lounge" is now off the bucket list. Thank you, mom and dad.

Dinner was great, but we had to hurry afterward because Leigh and I had a softball game. I started playing about a month ago with Phil, Dave, the Ohnheiser boys, some Pepsi people, and some of my nursing friends. I haven't played softball in 15 years, and after an outfield collision with Brad the Semi and a subsequent interruption in gall bladder function, I know why. For starters, I'm not really that good at it. I can throw and I can bat, but I'm terrified of grounders, can't hit with any precision, and my depth of field is sometimes completely off when it comes to pop ups. But there's something about the ball field that makes it feel like summer. Budweiser agrees, which is why they put softballs on the cans of beer that I brought to the field on the night of my actual birthday.

The umpire sang to me when I got up to bat. Also, I tried to slide. And failed.

Dave brought me a half of a shot of whiskey. Phil brought this pose.

Running out of room for all those candles.  But I'm still in the one box category!

Lungs work better now than they did at 21.

This has been the scene of many of my adolescent birthdays.

I didn't really make any birthday "plans" because I knew I was going to Indianapolis with my sisters and my cousin the weekend after and with a softball game at 7 on a Wednesday, there's not much space for planning something else. I wanted to try the new West Sixth Street Brewery, and since we play softball in the hood, it was close and my birthday was as good a time as any. We all migrated over there and shared one of every beer and some kettle corn. 

I usually hate microbrews, but every single one of theirs is actually good.

They started to close at 11, but rather than go home, Mack said we must all go to Green Lantern. It was hotter than hell in there, but because it is also in le hood, the bartender, who was there alone before we got there, didn't want to leave the door open. We commandeered the juke box and the pool table, Mack got a coupon written on a napkin, and I gave dancing lessons. Because I am an fabulous dancer.

Sam and Rob playing pool stick guitar better than they played pool.

And then Mack broke out the magic. I love the magic.

My birthday day was awesome. I got phone calls and Facebook messages and texts and emails and people sang to me and made me vegan almond joy cupcakes and let me get away with things. None of it was planned, all of it was perfect, and I even got a clarinet from Mack. Yes, Shannon, I really wanted a clarinet.

The only real thing I'd intended to do for my birthday was to go to Indianapolis for a weekend getaway with my sisters and my cousin Andrea. Andrea's husband had a freak brain injury a few years ago when she was 6 months pregnant and how she has managed to keep her sanity and not become an alcoholic is beyond me. Actually it's not. She is and always has been amazing, able to fill a room with her laugh and beaming smile with the slightest provocation. And man, do I like to provoke her.

Shannon, Leiah and I carpooled up to Indy, met up with Andrea, and proceeded to have one of the best dinners of my entire life. The food was okay, but I laughed so hard my face hurt. Leiah and Shannon tried to get killed and raped on the walk back to the hotel, but even that didn't get in the way of our good time.

You have no idea the application of physics we used to get us all on here.

AKA the Rape Corridor. Go ahead, Shan.

Leiah logic after 2 mojitos and 3 beers... walk on the yellow line and the cars won't hit you.

When we got home, we marveled at the different manifestations of DNA, and Shannon credited my grandma for my bulk. Trouble is, my grandma and Leiah's grandma ARE THE SAME GRANDMA. DNA is a funny bastard.

We spent the next day shopping and laughing and dancing. We ate dinner at the Slippery Noodle, the oldest bar in Indiana, where DNA had us all ordering BLTs (mine sans bacon), and then we went to the bachelorette breeding ground known as Howl at the Moon. That places was full of annoyings, including one guy in a shirt with flames on it and another whose buttons had been ripped off. So we left there and ended up at an Irish pub playing good music, where we proceeded to be the only ones on the dance floor. At 4 am, we made it back to our hotel, at which time Andrea sat in a mound of biting ants and had to strip down while running through the hallway back to our room. It was a grand finale, brought to us by Pineapple Upside Down shots.

Shannon DID NOT want to do shots. I knew we were going to Howl at the Moon, so I had 2 beers, a shot, and a glass of whiskey.

Look at Shan, double-fisting her way through Howl at the Moon.

I can't believe next year I'm going to be halfway to 40!