Best birthday ever.

It certainly was.

Lunch. Pedicures. Margaritas. Great friends. Fajitas. Laughter. Tequila shots. Vagina jokes. More margaritas. My friend trying to sneak onto the T without paying. Pictures. Magner’s. Cheetos. Passing out in bed.

One year older – none the wiser. Still scratching my head at the strangeness that is men. Ah, maybe “Why do men do what they do?” is just one of life’s great unanswerable questions – like how many grains of sand are on all the beaches in the entire world? 

Whatever. I still had an awesome birthday, surrounded by tons of awesome friends. And I should keep that in mind when I’m having shitty days – there are lots of people who love me. 

And I am included in that list.

The first anniversary of my 25th birthday.

So I’ve been 26 yeas old for…33 minutes.

And you know what I’m doing?

Lying in bed, with a bag of Cheetos, checking my Facebook for new birthday wishes, preparing to watch last week’s episodes of 30 Rock and The Office.

Sounds lame, I know. But I’m hoping that in my new birthday outfit tomorrow – complete with platform slingbacks – I’ll have an AWESOME evening drinking and dining with friends. Hopefully it’ll be so awesome that I only remember parts of it, and have to use photos and stories of shenanigans to reassemble the pieces.

Happy motherfucking birthday to me!