Posted By Kristabella on September 16, 2008
If you didn’t know (from constant reminders and my drunken Twittering), this past Sunday was my birthday. I’m now officially in my 30s and celebrated the most anti-climactic birthday ever. I mean, really, the only thing I decided I could say about my 31st birthday was that I am now only four years away from becoming eligible to be President of the United States. Will you vote for me?
Normally my birthday is my favorite day of the year. As you might have guessed, because I am a blogger who shares my personal stories on the internet because I am a famewhore, I kind of like attention. So nothing is better than a whole day ALL ABOUT ME!
This year, not so much. One, I’m starting to feel older and had a few “what am I doing with my life? I should have accomplished more by now” panic moments in the last few weeks. On top of it, being unemployed, I haven’t much felt like partying and celebrating. I’ve felt like drinking, but have not felt like showering. So it wasn’t really my desire to go out and celebrate. Which is why I didn’t send out the evite until a few days before and why most people had plans and couldn’t make it.
But I went. And I had a great time. It was a small party, but we had a good time last Friday in advance celebration of my birthday.
My mom and my friends braved the HORRIBLE rain and drank some libations with me and put up with my drunken slurring and occasional spitting.
After the first bar, my friend Shelly and I headed to a bar in my neighborhood and we caught up and got into a discussion about her situation with a guy she had met recently who had not called back. He happens to be a Chicago cop, so when a police car rolled by the bar, we decided to beckon them to come in. No, really. I was waving at them to come in. They just thought we were waving and probably drunk. So they waved back and they were feeling really good because well, I’m stacked.
So what would a normal person do after that? They would just laugh at the situation. Not me. I was drunk. I blew them a kiss.
(Re-enacted for the purposes of hilarity.)
Sunday was my actual birthday and I had plans to go to a townie bar on the South Side with some of my friends from my old job to watch the Bears game. We drank A LOT of these buckets.
We watched the Bears lose, stayed way too long and too many “locals” bought me shots. It is a good thing I do not have a job to go to. Because I just got silly drunk.
And then I drank so many bomb shots (Cherry Bombs and Jager Bombs), too many Coors Lights and then decided it was a good idea to give my phone number to a guy they call White Rob. Why do they call him that, you ask? Because White Rob is white and they don’t want to confuse him with Black Rob, who is black. All who probably spend too much time at the same bar.
I’m pretty sure my friend Ruby and I are going to take a break from this place for awhile. We overindulged and are too close to becoming regulars. And that is a goal to save for my 32nd birthday.
See the rest of the drunken debauchery photo evidence here.