Bachelorettes, Bras, Boxers and Booze

The title sums up my birthday evening. It's a long, fun story, so let's see where to begin.

Thursday was my actual birthday and I was feeling pretty slumpy, not too excited about hitting the downslope of my third decade. Remember when Thirty Something was on and we were all like barely twenty and would watch Hope and Michael and Gary, and Melissa, and all the rest of the gang, and wonder, "Wow, being in our thirties seems a lifetime away." Well, I'm officially no longer right smack in the middle, I've gone to the other side. And I don't think I ever saw a Thirty Something episode quite like our evening out last night.

First, I had a practically totally kid-free Saturday, and while I did kind of miss the babies, the day did kind of go way too fast. Do you ever notice how when you're out doing something for yourself, and how rare it is to have a "all-day-all-me" kind of day, those days just sort of speed by. All of a sudden, it's 4:30 and you're like, "But I don't wanna go home yet!"

Scott set the day up for me with a massage at nine a.m. and also got me some Starbucks gift cards. So I did the massage, went for a power walk, then met my friend L for some shopping. Thank God I hit the jackpot right out of the gates at TJ Maxx and found an outfit for the evening or else my night would have been shot. And L wanted me to try on some things that were not in my "comfort zone" because she thinks I can wear stuff I usually don't wear.

So, got some cute things, felt happy with the choices, finished up the afternoon with an appetizer and diet coke (L had a jumbo marg--I couldn't go there because of the two margs I had the day before, which sent me right into an afternoon hangover and a two-hour nap at L's house while she and J watched my kids)...

Here's some backstory on the previous day...

Friday, L & J invited me for lunch to celebrate the big old other-side-of-the-decade birthday and they had their youngest kiddie with them, and I had my youngest Tukey with me. They're already at the place, sitting outside because it's a beautiful day and all these beautiful young, fun, carefree people are out and about having a nice day and a couple drinks. When I arrive, J and L introduce our waiter to me, named Heath. We start joking about candy bars and stuff. I ask him how old he is. He says 23.

"Ooh, that was the age of my last victim!"

"Victim?" He asked.

Anyway, lunch with Heath was fun, he promised me a shot when we went out the following night because he was bartending. It was all good, and so were the two margaritas with an amaretto topper (try it next time you get a marg--just ask for a shot of amaretto on the side to pour into your marg).

Back to Saturday--

Shopping was a success, and remember a few posts back when I was shopping again (wow, I guess I've been shopping a lot lately!) and I bought two bras for like $80 and was completely appalled (spelling?) that I would spend that much for two items that nobody sees?

Well, I am a changed woman now! Loving those bras! I never knew I had boobs before but they were stand-up-and-take-notice boobies in my new low-cut (which I never wear!) shirt on Saturday night! So, that's the bra part of the title. And somewhere out there in digital camera land, there's a picture that's much too graphic to ever get on Manic Mom, because, after all, this blog is about motherhood, isn't it?

We took a taxi to dinner and fortunately, we also BYOMargaritas with us because the service was terrible at the restaurant, but in retrospect, that is a good thing or else I probably would still be in bed right now. But the place wasn't a BYOB but it didn't matter anyway. Had dinner, had two caramel appletinis, which were yummy, then went to the bar where cute little 23-year-old Heath Bar worked. I told him I was there for my blow job as he had promised, so I got one. Me, not him. The drink, not the other thing! My, where is your mind??

Next up, we see this bachelorette party so I tell Scott to go over and dance for them and he goes and flirts with the girls and we're all laughing and having a good time, and did I mention I bought him some way cute shirts while I was out shopping and he was looking straight out of the movie Swingers in his cute, retro shirt.

We hung out with the bachelorette party, and they had these cards that the bride to be had to do--kind of like a scavenger hunt. One was she needed a sock from a guy. Scott gave them his stinky old sock.

Next bar we go to is the bar where I succumbed to almost committing adultery way back when the night I puked in the taxi (for those of you just joining Manic Mom, you can read about it somewhere in March's archives, I think). We get there, my friends announce my birthday, we request some songs, and start dancing. Nobody was dancing until we got there, then all of a sudden, the floor is packed and we're doing all these crazy things and S's hubby does some moves like he's going to break a move and do some break dancing. And we girls were dancing with each other and feeling each other up and doing girly sandwich dancing because guys in bars love that stuff, right?

Then these girls, who were actually pretty hot start dancing with J and Scott and they are like digging on them, and instead of me being jealous, now that I am a hip over-the-edge of my decade kind of girl, I'm glad to see others are finding that Scott is attractive. So, then I see some guy and I tell S--"Hey, isn't that Douglas, my 23-year old?" We chase him down, S says, "Hey Douglas." He turns around, he's cute. He's not Douglas. S says, "Hate to tell you but your guy wasn't anywhere near as cute as that guy."

So, more dancing, and the DJ says "Happy birthday Stephanie" throughout the night, and then even says on the mike: "Are all your birthdays like this?" So, he must have thought we were out of control. But how could we be, with Scott lifting S onto his shoulders and spinning S's fun hottie sister and her boss in the air, almost tossing them into the crowd?

Back to another bar called Peanuts or something where it is filled with, you guessed it, peanuts. We're throwing them down each others cleavage, into purses, pockets, whatever and the bouncers are like, "Don't throw the peanuts." Okay, you're going to have barrels and buckets and bowls of peanuts all over the place, for drunk people to open and crunch and eat and toss the shells onto the floor but you expect us NOT to throw them? Come on.

We see the bachelorette party has convened at the peanuts place and we hang out with them for a while and the bride to be shows Scott another one of those scavenger cards. All the girls start cracking up, so of course, I want to read the card:

"Have a guy sign his underwear and give them to you."

So, can you guess what happens?

I yell to Scott: "Give them your underwear! Give them your underwear!"

Does he look at me like I'm mad? Does he look at me like I'm a psycho crazy wife? Does he look at me like I'm drunk out of my mind and not thinking clearly?

No. He takes his underwear off, gets a marker from one of the girls at the party, signs his boxers, and gives them to the bride. No one can believe he has just done this, and no one can believe that the wife of the underwear-giver is so understanding and encouraging and willing to let other women have his underwear, but I was totally cool with it. I'm a woman of the 2000s, I can handle this kind of thing, I like to see other people have a good time at the expense of my hubby's underwear, plus, it's one less pair I've got to wash!