That’s right folks. The infamous birthday/#pbandtuna wedding is finally here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ll be honest, folks. I have been super stressed and freaking out all week.

But now that the big weekend is actually here, I have NOTHING BUT EXCITEMENT churning in my loins.

To everyone who’s coming from out of town:

I am going to lick your faces so damn hard, oh my gaw. You are amazing and totally rock my socks off. Look, they’re totally across the room. (Everyone IN town: you are 9/10 as awesome but don’t feel bad. They really had a leg up on you on this one.

…TWSS.)

To my blushing bride, who wrote the sweetest vows EVAR and made me cry before 8am on my birthday when I read them…

Just you wait until I give you your present today. REVENGE IS A BITCH.

In all serious, I love you so much, Maxie. I don’t know how I existed before you came into my life. You are one of the kindest, funniest, warmest, cuddliest people I have ever known, and I am seriously lucky to call you a friend. (And lovah.)

Tonight we shall snuggle Murray together and it will be GLORIOUS.

All right, y’all. I have a shit ton of stuff to do to get ready, so I’m off. But please to enjoy the one video on the interwebs that makes me happier than anything else in the e-world. It’s an oldie but a goodie…

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

(I am *so* doing these dance moves tomorrow.)

If you’re in DC, don’t forget… the bash is tomorrow at Stetson’s (upstairs) at 16th and U Streets. We’ll be there at 8 sharp to stake it out…

Woot!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

I am so freaking sick of SHOULDS.

Hitting my mid-20s, a lot has changed. Lemmonex and I talk openly about coupons for the grocery store, for chrissakes… and we’re not making fun of little blue haired ladies who use them. B and his friends in the financial industry discuss their retirement plans… and they actually have one. My doctor has started to nag me about extra calcium and weight training, because apparently I will perish into a pile of dust at 42 without said things.

Isn’t just making a home cooked meal every now and then enough? Isn’t making it from paycheck to paycheck without having your account fall into the negative enough? Isn’t cardio four times a week enough?

Because it’s a helluva lot more than I was doing at 21 or 22. But no, apparently… it’s not enough.

It’s never, EVER enough.

I am a big girl now. Officially, whether I like it or not. I have a home with a man and we have things and bills and living creatures that we pay for all by our bigass selves.

And it’s taken it’s toll… I feel it every day, in little ways. I feel guilty when I forget to take my multivitamin. (And simultaneously, like a dork for having them sitting on my desk at work.) I feel guilty when I realize I went a whole weekend without flossing. I feel guilty every time I walk by my company’s credit union where I really should open a credit card and transfer my high interest balance from the evil that is Capitol One… but it’s been almost a year that I’ve been walking by, and I’ve never made it inside.

These are all things I wouldn’t have dreamed of worrying about just a couple years ago. And now little “responsible” things like this weigh me down just a little more, every day.

“We are old,” Lemmonex and I say to each other once a day, whether we’re getting excited about a cheap homegoods store she found online, or the fact that we wanted to shoot ourselves in that bar Saturday night when we were elbow to elbow with all the “kids”.

We used to be those kids…

Now we’re wondering “if anyone still says that” and why on earth they don’t know what Hammer Pants are.

I wrote this post not so long ago about “Doing the Splits into Grown Up World”…

Looks like I’ve taken one more biiiiig, slippery step down this slope into “adulthood”.

Oh, well. I plan to undo at least half of the new “responsible me” I’ve discovered next weekend as my birthday present to myself.

Life is hard.

Mama said share.

Dear Hostess From The Heights With Those Awesome Steve Madden Boots I Have Wanted FOREVER:

My boyfriend asked you about them for MY BIRTHDAY PURPOSES (coughcoughtwoweekscough). He was not hitting on you, hookerface. And *now* he’s not even getting them for me, probably because you were so weird about it all but possibly more because my stupid camera decided to break and obviously we can’t have my wedding/bday fiasco OR go to Costa Rica without a camera.

DUH.

Sincerely, I’d Rock Them Better Than You Anyway.

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Dear Girl Whose Crop Dusting I Had the Pleasure of Walking Behind This Morning:

I hope a toilet snake gets your evil, evil ass today.

Sincerely, Yes I Totally Ran In Front Of You And Squeezed One Out. REVENGE, MOTHA FAHKAH!

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Dear Old Lady in the Company Locker Room:

Is it really necessary to have an entire conversation in the middle of the room with your pancake boobs pretending to be Italian hands? Not every story needs THAT much accentuation. P.S. I can see your entire bush through your white cotton grandma panties, and I don’t think there’s a Korean in the world who could help you.

Sincerely, Please Keep Your Pubic Mound to Yourself.

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Dear Period I Knew Was Coming in the Back of My Mind But Kinda Forgot:

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shiiiiiit.

Sincerely, Less One Pair of Boyshorts.

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Dear Myself:

No, you are not a complete sell out for selling (just a little!) ad space to people and places you actually like! After all, Tonic DOES rock. Hell, they have karaoke every Sunday night! And you know how you love a good karaoke night…

Yes, that is Rick Astley. WHAT'S YOUR POINT.

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To Lisa (Albeit Belated) and Irish Lebowski:

Huge congrats on MAKING A PERSON. I can’t think of two people I would rather bring offspring into this world. Well, not together. With your hubbies. You know what I mean.

Awk…. ward.

Sincerely, Honestly Happy For You Even Though I Prefer Puppies and Kittens to Babies.

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Dear Sharky:

YOU ARE THE WINNER OF THE FIREFLY HALLOWEEN CONTEST!!!

Congrats, love muffin. Charlie and the Waitress it is. These have already been procured…

And I am already mentally preparing myself to rock some aqua skinny jeans.

If you need an idea for Halloween, click the contest link. You guys were The Awesome. Thanks so much! And if you didn’t win, don’t worry. Firefly and I have been talking and something is in the works… and the next giveaway winner won’t be subject to my whimsy, I promise.

Sharky, shoot me an email-

Sincerely, Wanna Split That With Me?

Mama said share.

***Update: Doods! My site caught swine flu and was down all day yesterday. It should be up and running fine now- vaccinate your children!- but do me a solid and let me know if you notice anything wonky, mmmkay? Xoxo***

Anyhoo. Today shall be a better day. My morning started like this:

Coworker: How old is your little sister?

Me: 21. No, wait, 22. CRAP, no, she’s TWENTY THREE!!!!

Coworker: (laughing at me) Oh, so you’re ancient, right?

(Actually, exactly what I’d been thinking was “Holy fuck, I’m OLD.”)

My baby sister turns 23 years young today. The hooker will always be younger than me, but somehow, I love her anyway.

Dear Sis,

I’m sorry for the time I dislocated your arm. (Accident! But still.)

I really miss making LEGO worlds with you.

I'm pretty sure it looked something like this. Boys drool!

I wish I’d let you play with the Barbies that still had hair more often.

Oh, and stolen less of, um, ALL your toys.

I love how ridiculously smart, funny, and compassionate you are. (Mostly the funny. You make me laugh like no other. But I can make you snarf milk through your nose, so we’re even.)

I’m proud of you for knowing yourself so well. You’re one of the few who never seemed to struggle with that angsty existential crisis so many of us do in our formative years.

(Guess I took on that burden for you…)

Ahem!

My only complaint about you? That you haven’t watched Always Sunny.

There’s a present for you in the mail… you have no excuse now, my dear.

(Um, surprise?)

Happy Birthday, Lil Sis.

Pay no attention to the Kate Gosselin style highlights, please and thank you.

P.S. Moog, Mike, Narm, JP, and most other readers with penii… I am just waiting for you to make some joke about banging my sister. MY MOM READS THIS. Just a friendly reminder.

(Now they’re going to make a joke about banging my mom. Warning FAIL.)

P.P.S. If you’re a blogger in the DC area, you should be a member of the free Washington, DC Blogger Meetup group. The lovely Lexa and I are hitting up their Meetup tonight at Madame’s Organ around 7, and we’d love to see you there too.

Don’t forget to RSVP if you’re coming!

Mama said share.

So how was the party? Well, I think Peter Falk/Columbo said it best in The Princess Bride…

Grandpa: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…

My birthday party? Was absolutely amazing. I actually don’t think anyone even noticed we didn’t have a working fridge, ironically enough. It was annoying with prep, but whatever. Saturday was one of the best nights of my life, and it actually seemed like everyone else was having as much fun as I was. I hope that’s true.

Shannon walked in the door and got busy serving G&T jello shooters for all. Suicide Blond brought a 10-layer chocolate cake so good, Lemmonex said this about it:

Lem: I want to lick that cake off someone’s body. Anyone’s really. Like, I’d lick that cake off Danny DeVito’s body.

Agreed, Lem, agreed. And your Reeses Pieces brownie cookies? Gone within minutes. Much like Kbo‘s and my 3-lbs-of-cheese macaroni casserole.

And perhaps there wasn’t actually any fencing, but there absolutely was some fighting…

Everyone has that friend that you actually don’t really like anymore, but you’ve known them so long, you can’t just END it. When I first moved to DC, I only knew a small handful of people, one of them being my 8th grade boyfriend. (We were friends afterwards, but it’s way funnier to say it that way, no?) When we were growing up, 8GBF was a great guy. (Great kid, I suppose.) He was the funniest person in school, kind of goofy in a cute way, and a total sweetheart. But when we got to high school, something changed. I like to flatter myself and pretend that it was because I broke his heart and left him jaded, but who really knows what happened? His jokes got meaner and meaner, until they just weren’t funny anymore. He became a cruel and selfish person. I may have a (well-documented) sick sense of humor, but there are places even I won’t go… and he lives there. He’s the kind of guy who tells a joke, and everyone goes silent with shame for even being in the same room with him. He’s stood me up on plans more often than not, when I was new to the city and had no one else to call. He truly makes this world a darker place.

But I keep giving him another chance. I keep hoping he’ll grow up a little, get hit with a shock wave of self-realization, perhaps, and change. And over and over again, he’s let me down.

Saturday he showed up (a very fashionable 3 hours late) with his little brother, or Mini-8GBF, and his right-wing man, also known as the only man alive DOUCHIER than 8GBF. (Last year when I met him, we got into a huge fight, and I swore I’d never hang out with 8GBF again. But I also can’t hold a grudge to save my life, and after a few months I’d forget how terrible he made me feel, and agree to grab a beer with him. Which would inevitably end in another vow to never see him again. And so on and so forth.) 8GBF made his way to the back porch, and I believe was being relatively well-behaved, while Mini-8GBF and Douchier-than-8GBF watched the Red Sox game in the living room. They perhaps forgot that there was an actual party going on around them, though, and turned up the volume to the point where the twenty or so people inside could barely hear themselves talk.

Ever the Southern belle, my bff Kbo asked them politely to turn down the volume, pointing out that it was a commercial break. Mini-8GBF and Douchier-than-8GBF obliged, but with snide remarks that ended in them calling my two best girlfriends, who had driven 10 hours to see me on MY birthday, and would drive another 10 home in the morning, “psychos.”

Enter ME. Now imagine that my Carolina girls tell me what just transpired.

I told them to get out of my house, please. They protested. I told them to get the FUCK out of my house, right this second. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, and do not EVER disrespect my girls in MY HOUSE.

B heard me upset, quickly realized what was going on, and asked them, very diplomatically, to leave. They made the grave mistake of replying casually, “Sure, dude, after the game.”

Now, B is a very level-headed man. He is nothing if not a gentleman. But, like most intelligent and reasonable men, you do NOT want to piss him off.

“No,” he said evenly, dangerously. “Get the fuck out of my house, NOW.”

The next thing I knew, every civilized gentleman in the place was helping B physically assist the three offending jerkoffs out the door. And by “helping,” I mean “raining down on them with fists of fury, as they were thrown the fuck out on their asses.” And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t totally hot.

It’s a difficult decision to cut someone completely and permanently out of your life. It’s even harder when you grew up together, when you have history, when they “knew you when”. But the person that I knew and liked is gone. He hasn’t been there for years, if I’m being truthful with myself. I’ve made a lot of fabulous changes lately, and I think this is one more that should be added to that list.

8GBF? There is officially no room for you in my life anymore.

PS: This was about 2 minutes of the entire evening and in no way put a damper on any of it. In fact, it was kind of awesome… after all, what’s a party without a little violence and triumph over evil?

PPS: THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who came and made it extra fabulous, or wished me birthday wishes and made it extra fabulous, or is just an extra fabulous human being. You gave 25 a helluva great start…

Mama said share.

This week, B and I went liquor shopping for my birthday party on Saturday.

We discovered we are great fans of Calvert Woodley in Van Ness. (Thanks Lem!)

No, like, really, really big fans.

Oh wait, almost forgot the Fresca! (Don’t judge. It is scrum-diddly-uptious with some vodka.)

So I was thinking, (shut up, I do that sometimes)… We should concoct a (simple) drinking game to play during the party. Please feel free to add more in the comments…

Every time Restaurant Refugee is wearing a suit (repeat every time you look at him): 1 drink

Everytime my Carolina girl Kdawg says “Y’all”: 1 drink

Every time FreckledK tells a story about a crazy date or suitor who seemingly cannot read or write: 2 drinks

Every time someone pokes their head out the window and waves at our next door stoop-sitters: 2 drinks

Every time KassyK strokes her or someone’s else’s hair: 3 drinks

Every time someone tries to put Shannon in their pocket/purse for keeps: 3 drinks

Every time B gets someone to sing karaoke to Rock Band: 4 drinks

Every time Lilu faceplants into something or otherwise injures herself: 4 drinks

Every time Lemmonex uses a food as a porn reference: 2-5 drinks, (depending on how hard it makes my mother blush- and my mother is in New England…)*

Super Amazing Bonus Round: If J happens to revisit a memory and has an “accident”?: SHOTGUN A BEER.

Mama said share.