So like the lucky ones, I had another birthday this past week. Fiddy One. As much as I may write a whole lotta hoopla about my day of birthing, in actuality I low-key it.
I had lunch with my friendie.
I got many cards.
And a few cute little gifties, which were totally unexpected, unnecessary, but appreciated. This cute manikin cat to help me draw cats was one of my gifties. Because I commented to My Pencil that if I had an ounce of drawing talent, I would sit around and draw cats all day.
Speaking of my lack of artistic talent, I heard on Howard Stern last week that you can tell the grade a person stopped believing/evolving in their talent because that’s how they still draw/paint/whatever today. I kind of remember the exact time I stopped drawing as a kid. I was young, like six or something like that. I didn’t know how to draw and make things look ‘good’ so I just sort of stopped and stuck with my rudimentary house with chimney and smoke curl and really bad flower, which I still draw the same way today.
I’ve got the talent of a six year old. My paintings reflect that. Ah well. Like i said in a prior post, some of you unlucky fucks are going to one day inherit those so jokes on you.
But back to celebrating me. I also received this super cute foxy mug from my co-worker that says, “What the Fox” on the outside, which is maybe a hint for a work-appropriate way of being sweary vs. being actual sweary.
I went for drinks with some other friendies. It did not live up to my expectations because they have these kinda glasses at the bar and I was clear to my waiter I wanted a tiki cup and instead I got the plainest of plain glass, and had to steal My Mister’s umbrella outta his drink to even make my drinkie look slightly fun.
I don’t think a request of a tiki mug at a tiki bar is that outlandish. The drinks were strong, not quite as “vacation-ie” as I had hoped. I like my tiki vacation drinks to taste like liquid marijuana.
Maybe I am high maintenance after all. I have a lotta strong feelings about my cocktail, obvi.
My Mister and I tried out a new joint for dinner. It was good. Good enough. They specialized in chicken and whiskey. Our new chicken standard is Gus’s in Memphis, and this was equally good, just good/different.
Type 2 (me) enjoyed an indulgence in many treats. Lemon tart was one of them, and it was really great and I count it as a fruit because lemon.
I granted myself treats allowed on my birthday only. Except I also had date nut cake, which is a fan favorite, and I enjoyed that on into Saturday as well.
There was also a chocolate caking, so basically I think I covered the major birthday flavors except for white cake, but I had decided to move on from my love of white cake and replaced it with the date nut. Because I am constantly evolving, Reader.
A few friendies have suggested that I whopped it up for my birthday like the party animal. If that party consists of sleeping in bed and the animal is my cats, then yes, I am a party animal. Because on Friday after dinner and a drink we had thought of going to the neighborhood bar and instead we went to bed and watched My 600 lb. Life until I fell asleep before 10 p.m.
And then slept in the next morning til 10 a.m., so yep, partying.
In my pajamas.
Saturday night was much of the same. Had a fleeting thought of going to see a country band at my local dive bar, but that didn’t start until the ungodful hour of 9 p.m., and by that time I was back in my pajamas and in bed for the night.
I may or may not have had something to relax me, which also made me hungry and so I was eating cold shrimp & grits leftovers while standing in front of the open refrigerator. And that’s how we celebrate a fiddy-one birthday weekend around Chez Bang Bang.
Cheers, Me, to another year.