Happy Bugeater

Happy Bugeatah to all July 3 babies!

OMG Dan Koeffler just said to me “Good morning, if you are jsut waking up”.  Uh…I am just getting in? Is it still good morning to me? I donb’t know who Dan is, he is early morning man.   Did you know that Miller Light Chill is sweet as shit?

I am waking. Not tired.

[BUG] I am tired. I am sleeping.

Harumph.  I have no bloging partner.

I think I shall try toi embrace my tiredness.

Stool softner. FUNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Do not watch television at 4:30 in the morning.

tHE END.

Go Twins.

Happy Birthday Collage!

I won’t explain, but those in the know, know.

 

 

And then there’s the field…good times, good times

 

Teaser

Our Long Jump Champion

And some Long Jump losers

It’s my party and I’ll…wait, it’s MY party?!

One of the only real birthday parties I really remember ever having is from when I turned seven. Maybe it was six, but I am pretty sure it was seven. I am pretty sure of this because I know we were living in the townhouse in Eagan, MN and by the time I had turned eight we had moved to a rambler in Burnsville. So, seven. Anyway, because it was summer I didn’t have access to schoolmates to invite to my birthday party, just the kids from the neighborhood and daycare. Thing is, most of the kids I played with everyday…in the neighborhood with the sloping, connected-for-miles- newly paved driveways which were so utterly awesome for rollerskating and biking over…were either way younger or way older than me. And when you are seven, a nine year old is WAY older. This probably explains why I don’t remember having a particularly good time at said birthday party. My birthday party. WTF?

So this memory may be one of the driving reasons why I felt compelled to have a party this year. An actual party, not a happy hour as per my usual celebratory fete. A party with decorations, food and games. But done Banana-style, this translated to FIELD games. Like the kind you played at the end-of-the-school-year bash, called Field Day, in elementary school. Only this time we had adult beverages in addition to the Capri-Suns.

It was FANTASTIC. It’s going down in history as one of the best birthday’s ever and it wouldn’t have happened without the help of Buggie, Crispy C, Jen, Burma, and La Tigra. These girls rock and really made a great day uttlery fantastic. I seriously cannot thank them enough. And I must say that I have a really amazing circle of friends all around — to put up with my birthday antics, encourage them even and just be completely awesome people to hang out with. I love you all.

Pictures to come once the official photographers (Buggie, Frank DC Sports Chick and Harms) do their uploading.

Happy Birthday to me!

This is me

 

Busy bee.

 

 

Plus…shhh…(hell, who am I kidding? Scream it from the rooftops!)…

 

…it’s birthday week!

 

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Stuff

Sigh

I feel like I should be something other than what I am. Or feel something other than what I feel. Whatever it may be. If I am feeling happy, I think I shouldn’t be and I question it’s sincerity. If I feel sad or melancholy, I think that to be entirely too self-indulgent and I should get a clue and actually look at my life and be happy damnit. Then when I think these things, things that are incongruent with what I am feeling (whatever it may be), I just want to sigh.

Sigh

I had an amazing mid-week weekend, what with it being Buggie and America’s birthdays respectively. Bug and I played hooky and breakfasted and caught a movie and saw movie-screen sized cooter and had Blue Moon and smacked baseballs with baseball bats with Jen and ate ice cream and licorice and caught phrases and drank beers and took a zillion photos. No wonder we were so exhausted by the time the 4 of July rolled around. I am sure it had nothing to do with a 9am tailgate plan we initiated. But in case anyone might be wondering, breakfast stromboli is the greatest tailgate…nay…the plain old greatest food of all time.

Photo credit: Bug E. Bugger

An eruption of sweetness

A very sweet weekend indeed.

For those that happened to not be present at Law-ruh’s pad this Friday night, you should be acutely aware that the horror and all-around scary movies of your childhood are no longer scary. It’s a fact. I’ve tried many times now to scare the beejesus out of myself by viewing some classic scary movies to no avail (most recently Halloween and Children of the Corn). But if you get the chance to eat Law-ruh’s homemade ice cream while watching Isaac come back from the dead to bring Malachai with him…do it.

In unrelated news, in case you ever wondered, melted frosting oozes just like lava. I don’t know why you would wonder about this, but you might. Perhaps if you knew of a 12-year old’s luau-themed birthday party in which you were slated to make the official birthday cakes…then perhaps you would put thought into this kind of thing. I know I never pondered a situation such as this before this weekend. But alas, melted frosting (slightly cooled) will ooze just like molten lava when poured over a towering mountain (aka volcano) of chocolate cake.

I just feel bad for Tyra (Tricia’s twin sister) who opted for the non-surprise luau cake and requested that her giant chocolate chip cookie “cake” be embellished with a toucan…which you might be able to make out in the background here. It was not nearly as festive and “ooooh…ahhhh” inspiring as the volcano cake and for this I am sorry. But Tricia picked the surprise cake behind door number 2 and made out with this lovely specimen (if I do say so myself). I think this was the most fun I ever had making a cake. So if anyone out there ever has a hankering for an eruption of frosting, let me know because I will be more than willing to put an edible volcano together for you.

My milkshake brings all the peeps to the bar

I want to recap my birthday, but I feel I just won’t do it justice. Aside from some pain that just plain refuses to leave confines of my skull, I had a perfect week.

Ok. Bring on the sentence fragments!

Birthday coffee delivered to my desk (D-Mac if that ever stops, it will be the saddest birthday ever, because I just love it so). I was the recipient of multiple, virtual, e-presents in the form of birthday cake, some oddly arranged (partially dead) flowers, a wine and cheese basket, and a jet so I can take off to visit Chicago anytime I feel like it. Hmmm….multiple birthday songs left as voice messages as well as some that were actually sung in person (you guys sang at the bar for me!). A birthday text message arriving before 5am in the morning (swoon). Special lunch dates with the awesomest of company (The Mansion on O Street and Spezie are now two of my new faves).

Cupcakes in the form of stars, stars! Star cupcakes that proclaimed my hotness, my sweetness and other fab things that are probably not true about me. One of the largest birthday happy hours that I’ve ever organized (I still can’t believe you all came!) complete with a friggin Nats ice cream helmet sundae from the lovely Sweet, because she understands how serious I am about my cause. Yes I had ice cream for dinner on my birthday–and star cakes, well the icing anyway, and a club sandwich! What are you going to do about it?

And I am sorry to everyone that was exposed to my boobs. Yes, I wore a boobalicious dress, I did not mean to take it out on you. Ok, maybe I did. My boobs are nothing, if not for you. But you all made up for it anyway, what with all the middle fingers pointed to the camera. There was a baby gorilla for this baby banana and lo, look at that, they actually still make banana clips, who knew? There was a Twins win over the White Sox and then game 2 of the Yankees five-game sweep that someone may or may not have called me a bitch over. Whatever, all’s fair in love and the Wild Card race.

After the baseball there was barroom dancing. No, not ballroom dancing. Barroom dancing. You know, where you dance all silly and/or dirty with your girls in makeshift space while everyone around you sits on bar stools and watches or pays no attention whatsoever.

There was sleeping in on Saturday with no pressure to run for 53 hours. Crepes were enjoyed with a lovely Bugger over coffee and then bad backgammon game was played over wine and then wine and popcorn and hummus (Lebanese Taverna hummus no less!) were had over a bad movie. Has to be the best post-birthday recovery, ever. Fondue and cake with the family is nice, especially when you get to take half the cake home to eat for breakfast and/or dinner in the days following the celebration.

Next up? I am soooo looking forward to the O’s v. Twins* on Thursday, but let’s be honest…it’s all about the seats, 2nd row visitor’s dugout baby. Joey Mauer is gonna be mine. I wonder if he likes bananas.

Ok, I’ll shut up now.

*If anyone has an extra $55 to go to the game with three raging Twins fans. Hit me up imbabybanana(at)gmail(dot)com. I am not lying about the location of the seats either. Yum. Buggie, you still broke, or can you go?

Oh, and I am aware that this post is so very, unabashedly, me, me, me in nature. I have 115 pictures from the happy hour that I am trying deperately to upload and create a gallery for, but I am having technical difficulties. I promise that there are pictures of other people. Well me, with other people anyway. I love you? I do. I love you. My friends are amazing.

Nothing says “birthday” like…

…a club sandwich?

An update with photographic evidence to come soon, if Blogger decides to like me anytime before I turn 34.

Awesome birthday weekend people. Just awesome.

Do halfsies count?

I never had big birthday parties growing up. Also, having a summertime birthday meant no cupcakes and goodie bags to share with your classmates. No off-tune birthday song sung by 20 nine-year olds and one adult where half the crowd yells that you smell like a monkey and look like one too. Birthdays at my house were a family affair; always saved for the weekend and marked by your favorite dinner (as a child it was roast beef, cooked carrots and mashed potatoes—no gravy, just margarine), favorite cake (yellow cake with tons of dark chocolate frosting ala Duncan Heinz) and the grandparents coming over. Perhaps that’s why nowadays I like to have a big ol’ happy hour on the day-of. Or maybe that’s just because I am an alcoholic. What? I didn’t say that. Pass me my vodka. Anyway, back to birthday rituals. I guess I had lamented this point as I got older (Who me? Lament over my birthday? Whaa?) so one day, February 18 to be exact, my very best friend, Ginny, decided to take matters into her own hands. I arrived at my 10th-grade locker that day to find it covered in streamers with confetti strewn about the aisle in front of it, and my girlfriend standing there holding a large bouquet of Mylar balloons emblazoned with “Happy Birthday” in every conceivable color.

Confused and stunned. Or more stunned than confused, as streamer-ed lockers were not uncommon at this age–I knew what they were for…I just had never seen it applied to my locker before. Before I could utter a word, Ginny yells out “Happy Half Birthday!” I took a second to think and do some slow math in my head. Wow. February 18 is exactly six months before (and after) my birthday. I am exactly 15.5 years old today. Holy crap. This is the coolest fucking thing ever. I hug her and then proceed to act embarrassed beyond all belief. Hello! I was too cool to be giddy. But I was. Giddy. Excited. Over the moon. I had birthday wishes coming out of my ears that day. It was awesome.

That’s the one good thing about joining the workforce – no summer vacations; thereby everyone is around to wish you a happy birthday. And pick you up so you don’t have to take the Metro to work and then bring you venti lattes–like D-Mac did today (grin). I love it.