Sweet Tweets: Birthday Extravaganza? Maybe.

So, this weekend was my birthday. (What, you don’t have birthday weekends? Shame.) I turned a whopping 26 years of age.

It’s officially the end of an era. I am closer to thirty than I am twenty. I am officially out of the running for People’s Most Beautiful People Under 25. I can no longer look forward to being on the Real World: St. Louis Park. It’s all downhill from here.

When I was younger my birthday parties were usually? Lame. And this was no fault of my parents, of course. It was mainly due to bad timing. And Jennifer C. (I'm using an initial to protect her innocence, plus she probably knows how to Google herself and I don't need a lawsuit) Jennifer’s birthday was a week ahead of mine. Jennifer had herself a pool. Jennifer threw her annual birthday bash in her said pool. Everyone came. Everyone always had a blast. By the time my lowly birthday rolled around all the nine year olds were all partied out. Jennifer once had a birthday party and thirty people showed. I threw a skating party that next week. Two people showed. Another birthday party I had three people to show up, but one girl ate too much cake and ice cream, and barfed all over the table. She understandably had to go home.

By middle school and high school I just gave up. This was mostly because I couldn’t take the humiliation of sending out those cute invites and no one showing up anymore. That and OH MY GAH birthday parties are so NOT COOL. Gah, Mom.

After that I stopped caring that I never had a birthday during the school year. Who wanted to be sernaded by their friends at lunchtime anyway? I started to realize it didn’t matter that on the last day of school I got lumped together with the other 14 kids with summer birthdays for one big mock birthday celebration, when everyone else got their own day. (And by not matter I mean it’s haunts me EVERY. DAY.)

As for birthdays in college? Two words– SORORITY. RUSH. That’s right. All the friends I paid to be friends with me were under house arrest. No one could leave. The house went dry for the week. DRY. As in no alcohol. (Not that I drank before I was 21. Heh.) My 21st birthday went down as the biggest bust of a birthday ever. I took my shots, but once again two people showed up. (I have to mention here that Cyndi and Elizabeth were kind enough to throw me a make up 21st birthday party in December.)

After college came Miami Ad School. Or as I like to call it, Binge Drinking with a side of Debt. Its classes were in session all year. No summers, meant no summer birthdays. Yay! Plus you invited people to drink and they RSVP'd. Who couldn’t turn down a chance to drink your face off while at MAS? Whatever it was, I couldn’t have been more delighted. In the three birthdays I have had since I first walked the hallowed halls of MAS, my birthdays have been more fun than I can remember. Literally. Three birthdays. Three blackouts. (Parents – You raised me right, don’t worry. Kay?)

So that brings us around to last Friday, A.K.A. Daffornication 2005. I wish I could regale you with funny stories about drunken mishaps, but unfortunately I remember about this much(doing that thumb and finger thing that indicates a very little amount) of the party.

Here are the things that I am rumored to have done while my memory took a vaca to Bermuda.

- I slid head first into second base, and by second base I mean the food table.

- Had long, deeply insightful conversations. With the plants.

- Played cups. And won.

- I imbibed mass quantities of alcohol

- Passed out two hours into my party. Only after taking out an end table. (I have good friends, so the party continued in my honor.)

But here is what I will admit to doing, but only because there is photographic proof:

Happy Birthday to ME. That’s right, MEEEEE. This is when the shots started. I think this is the last part of the night where I was able to put together a coherent sentence. I think.

All the sexy bitches were at my party. Oh yeah.

But who invited Willy Wonka?

Eeek, look how shiny our faces are. We’re like a Clearasil "Before" picture. But big surprise, it's Texas, it's August, and it was eleventy million degrees outside.

Rich had a really good time. Clearly.

Here’s Jordan and I as we compare our fine orthodontia. I won hands down.

And here’s where it all starts to get foggy. Can you really blame me though? That shot glass is huge. YOO-GE! (From here on out I don’t remember a thing, and the rest of these pistures were a surprise to me the next morning.)