birthday weekend, round 2
March 3, 2010
In place of any sort of birthday party, I planned a weekend in my favorite city with a few girls. Ree had a company trip that would have cut the weekend in half so we planned it a week later than my birthday and four girls hit the freeway last Friday afternoon. Destination: Ocean Beach.
With the first night came the discovery of the Russian Lineup. This became a theme. Late night Irish pub shenanigans and live reggae music and more laughter than should be physically possible preceded the pick up of a pizza that we munched in our tiny hotel beds before calling it a night at o’late thirty.
We stayed at the Ocean Beach Ho, apparently. She was warm and welcoming.
Leave it to me to want to celebrate at the beach in February. This is the hotel courtyard. I guess you could say the Ocean Beach Ho was pretty wet.
The cold, damp gray might not have worked for some. I absolutely loved it.
You could say the amazing pizza & brew place was celebrating 25 years in business though I’m not convinced it wasn’t for me. (omg, apricot Hef.)
For day two there was patio breakfast, hotel lounging, much speculating on the tsunami headed over from Chile, as we were ON the ocean (the third morning saw seaweed in the residential streets), a very loud and very early surf competition we could watch from our balcony, delicious taquitos, and plenty more Irish pub shenans at Gallagher’s, where every night should end.
My girl, Kristine
My ninja, Ree
My Ma, strangling her BFF
On day three, we packed up and walked to a small cafe for brunch where there was quite possibly the best bad food ever and fresh squeezed strawberry juice in champagne. If I don’t get my hands on another one of those huge ‘man-mosas’ (grrr) in the next month, I’ll have someone’s head.
My girls are fucking iiiiincredible, yo.
-CJ
twenty-five in twenty-ten
March 1, 2010
I’ve been so busy, I generally forget to breathe about once a day. The falls usually only result in bruising, so please don’t worry.
Last Saturday marked my two-five. One quarter of a century down – three to go. That’s right, I’m here until 100, so long as I’m not shitting myself, in which case, take me out Kevorkian style.
Myself and some lovely others spent the late Friday afternoon in my new favorite, local dive bar for happy hour and introductions between family, co-worker friends and outside work friends. I do actually have some of those. It was a fuckin’ sweet turn out and I was ridiculously honored though I might have hid it behind a few Washington Apples.
Cousin Alex
Babydaddy Joshua
Sadly though, my bff/ninja was on a work trip to Catalina. When she got back Saturday afternoon, my actual day of birth, we atteneded a surprise 60th birthday for the coolest neighbor on the planet, Don. When we casually left with a loose and flexible schedule for the rest of the evening, I had no idea there was approximately thirteen people pulling a rendezvous in the best little punk rock drinking joint in Orange County. Well, in the parking lot of said joint, as the doors were suspiciously locked. We never did find out why they were closed at that time on a weekend. Perhaps they hate me or maybe they knew that we’d have to relocate with our big, sexy posse to a nearby gay bar where we would have a friggin’ blast and hit up the hookah bar next door for some cherry and watermelon lovin’.
Thirteen shots of Chocolate Cake for a birthday toast, c/o Ree.
Gratefully noming on Ree’s head.
On Sunday, there was Italian food with my family and my gorgeous new baby cousin that I could just consume whole, she’s so perfect. There’s some excellent pictures there featuring Kiddo ordering off the menu donning my mom’s magnifying glasses and plenty of slightly out of focus, not centered images that Kiddo, photographer extraordinaire, took herself. Sadly they’re on Mom’s digital camera and I might have to wait a while to get my grubby paws on them though when I do, you’ll notice every single birthday related picture that exists includes my awesome new plaid coat. That goes for this last weekend stock full of ridiculous shenanigans, spent in my favorite fucking city, Ocean Beach.
The bit of red in my cheeks? I’m still glowing.
-CJ
I got spoilt
February 22, 2010
While I de-fog my head from twenty-fifth birthday weekend shenanigans and attempt a decent, comprehensive update, I’d like to introduce you to my new friend:
This is Beatrix VonStargaze, a gift from my friend Becky, and she is thrilled to meet you. While I collect myself, she is being all fragrant and perfect to my right and it is making for a great Monday morning.
-CJ
after a novel length e-mail to a girl friend…
February 12, 2010
“I had to look up minutiae. You’re like homework, only you’re prettier and I don’t dread you.”
Best compliment ever.
-CJ
Sunday shenans
February 10, 2010
Apparently, the Saints won.
I was busy working these:
I’m not at liberty to discuss what happened after the bottles were empty but the cops were totally pissed and I woke up with this:
-CJ
birthday pictures
February 8, 2010
From my little ladypants’ seventh birthday extravaganza, all courtesy of the lovely and talented Kimberly Giffordpants.
Bet you wish you were there for the cupcakes alone.
-CJ
mah blood-sperience
February 5, 2010
I like to think that Kiddo is so independent that she even chose when she would be born, despite my and any medical professional’s advice to bake in my oven for another month, at the least. Her early delivery resulted in significant blood loss for me. I’m all, here’s a warm home for you to chill in for a while, get comf, and she was all, DIE, MOM. Thanks, kid.
Since then I’ve always said I would donate blood. It’s the people that donate that were there for me when I was the almost-recipient of a large quantity of not-my-blood. (Luckily I did not need the transfusion and I just remained white(r) for several days.) Knowing it was there and it would have helped possibly save my life (I was very near death, apparently, but no one would tell me that because I’d already performed a Stage 5 FREAK OUT) inspired me to give, give give.
Then seven years happened when I wasn’t looking.
So I stopped making excuses and boarded this rumbling Red Cross bus up the street from work. In a room the size of an airplane bathroom, I answered personal questions such as whether or not I’d accepted money for sex between now and 1977. There was another grown woman in the room with me. There was no room for oxygen in there, let alone my sexual history. Which does not include money for sex in the seventies, as I was not here yet.
I’m not afraid of needles but I am afraid of anything medically related that I do not understand. (All of it.) When it took four nurses poking my right arm and then my left for a vein ’suitable for this type of needle’ I almost checked out. (Apparently you’re supposed to eat and drink first. I did neither.) They were afraid of breaking the vein, I think they said, in which case I would have completely flipped the fuck out because, um, THEY BREAK? And how does one fix that? I don’t even want to know, don’t tell me.
So I chanted please don’t let me die on my lunch break a few hundred times while squeezing a stress ball, strapped to a blood pressure cuff, and consequently losing all feeling on one side and going numb from the freezing cold air they were blasting on me unnecessarily.
After a few minutes into the Draining of Jill, I decided I would definitely do that again. Up until that point though, I had nearly sworn off the big blood bus. The crush I developed on the nurse that was a ringer for Da Brat could have helped a little tiny bit.
So, mostly, suck. But overall, feel goody. “You’re paying it forward! With plasma!” -Jamie
“Your boob totally made a difference.” -Ashley
If anyone would like to come hold my hand on April 1st, that’d be lovely.
-CJ
disappointment
February 1, 2010
Over the weekend I was victim to a copy of The Lovely Bones; a DVD meant for ‘awards consideration only.’ I considered punching myself regretfully for bothering with the flick. I loathed that movie and stared directly at my cohort next to me and simply shook my head when it finally ended. I can absolutely appreciate the visionary aspect of the heaven-like place that Susie Salmon finds herself in, becase, holyfuck, that was cool. Aside from that I want 135 minutes of my life back.
The Grammy game went surprisingly slow though there were multiple instances of two or more consecutive drinks. Eventually I made myself a real cocktail and shortly after, got really sick of the dragged out mediocre performances save for Stevie Nicks on Rhiannon (where my ninja gets her first name, excitingly enough). If we’d watched the whole thing on mute and just admired some of the excruciatingly beautiful people I think it would have been much better.
No more award shows or award-consideration bootlegs for me.
-CJ
on football
January 25, 2010
I knew there was a damn good reason I hadn’t joined the fram on loving football. I hardly understand it, for one. And the Vikings vs Saints took way too damn long yesterday but once you’ve invested four quarters worth of your time, you sit through the OT. At least I had plenty of good company and a multitude of beverages. I’ll watch the Superbowl for the commercials but I don’t see any face paint in my future.
Baseball on the other hand… April can’t come soon enough.
-CJ
about a decade ago
January 12, 2010
My friend Carly sent me into an unforgiving nostalgia whirlwind when she sent these to my phone this afternoon.
I used to be tan.
I used to have red hair.
I used to wear skirts.
Used-ta
Used-ta
Used-ta
Those days were reeeally fuckin’ fun. And the reason I will hire an armed guard to follow my daughter until she’s thirty-five and a black belt.
-CJ
