My name in German, when translated is:
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Monday, May 12, 2014
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Turning 30 is as important as turning 16 and I can't see why people make such a big deal. But I bought into it, I had a party. But I did it on my terms. I made a bunch of sandwiches, had people over, but I had the dignity to not call it, "My Dirty 30," because, seriously fuck that.
I'm going to brag about my spread because, I'm really proud of what I did. I had lists, did the proper prep and made all the sandwiches before the guests arrived. I had a grown up cocktail bar, I cleaned my apartment, I had paper straws, REAL flowers and mason jar cups. My friends bought presents and we had adult conversations. The playlist was a curated 90's hip hop bump and grind, feel a poke coming through kind of playlist. Turning 30 was changing me, or so I thought.
Three Old Fashions later combined with Washington Apple shots and coconut vodka with soda water equals Hammered Montana, my drunk alter ego. Let's just say this bitch loves to party and she knew it was my birthday. The last thing I remember saying was, " Washington Apple Shots!!!" Famous last words.
Then my husband and friends dragged, what was probably a lifeless body, home and placed me in my comfort zone. I was so comfortable, my husband had to dig my contacts out of my eyes. I was so comfortable that I couldn't even get up to puke in the toilet. Yes my friends, I puked in my bed like a teenage girl who drank too much on prom night, no Sadie Hawkins, because turning thirty is as relevant as the Sadie Hawkins dance.