As Big Hands would say, we had a big ole birfday party here last weekend.  Because it was my birfday and I wanted to party like it was my birfday.

Sometimes parties are worth the time and effort and money, and sometimes they’re not worth the backwash at the bottom of your beer can.  Don’t you agree?  Thankfully, this one was worth EVERY PENNY because I had the best time ever, even if Brad snuck away and crawled into bed at eleven o’clock.

It was one of those parties where you’re so happy, so excited to see your friends, glad to be alive, loving your new orange high-heeled sandals, and immensely grateful for the taco truck lady who cooked dinner for all your guests so you didn’t have to.  You gladly give her cold beers because you are so happy for her and her pork products to be there on your property.

 

And everyone’s shoes looked mighty fine…

And then the night goes on and all the young-at-heart middle aged parents start to get a little loose and then that’s when the fun really starts, even if you forgot the pinata and the game of “Pin the Boobies on the 40-year Old”.  It is especially fun because you get gifts like 40-ounce bottles of beer and Slim Jims.

And then the night goes on a little bit more and you find yourself encouraging your friends to take home plates of tacos, because DAMN YOU’VE ALREADY PAID FOR THEM and you try to insist that in the middle of the night they will appreciate reaching over to their nightstands for a delicious morsel of spicy pork.  And then you all start breaking out your camera phones to text photos to loved ones who aren’t there.

And then you finish out the night at the bottom of your driveway in a strange heap of bodies, feeling pretty good laying on the cement and thinking about the plate of tacos you’ve hidden away which you should really go eat before you go to bed.  But the cement and your friends are so nice and warm that you just want to make the moment stretch out a little bit longer.

And a little bit later the tacos were still very tasty.