The one where my birthday sucks

Dear 35th year,

You are not off to what most people would refer to as “a good start”.

In fact, some might say you’re a looking a little scary right now.

I had enough issues with the fact that it was the 35th birthday, but I got over it and even decided to celebrate it…even though part of me would rather just sit at home in the dark and wait for my AARP card to arrive.

Now, my husband wasn’t here to celebrate it with me, but that was because I told him to just go ahead and stay in Alabama. Oh, yes I did.  After all, his heart belonged to the Steelers long before it belonged to me and I didn’t even feel like dealing with the inner turmoil he’d feel trying to decide which event would capture his attention…and I didn’t need the blow to my pride of knowing that he’d much rather be watching a bunch of men in tights.

So, I called up a few friends and we made plans to hit the town.

Little did we know that the town was going to hit back. HARD.

Dinner was lovely….the food was good…the service was impeccible…the company divine.

In retrospect?  We should have just hugged and said goodbye and called it a night.

A man might still be alive.

No, that’s a complete overstatement.  He’d still be dead…he did have a massive heart attack, fall off his bar stool and cause my two friends (both nurses) to have to run over and perform CRP. My two friends.  Kneeling on the floor of a bar performing CPR on a man with no pulse.

Ten minutes prior we did a shot and took incriminating photos of each other on a pole!

Then?  Dead guy, right there…as his poor wife crying…and the ambulence taking him away…my poor friends working to save this guy’s life…the twenty people who refused to stop line dancing fifteen feet away from where this poor man is laid out on the floor. Classy joint.

Pretty EPIC buzzkill, I gotta say.

On the other hand, we have the makings of a FINE country song in there, don’t ya think?

After THAT and our complete failure to be able to dance with the self-appointed professionals we decided to leave.  HA! We would show them that we CAN dance…we are capable of some mighty fine booty shaking fun…we just can’t do all that “turn, left, stomp, and kick and kick and stomp and back” crap.

Except, all the booty-shaking clubs are in Ybor City or downtown Tampa.

Again, did I mention it’s Superbowl weekend? And Tampa’s hosting?

So, any thoughts of going into Tampa to find a party time was dissuaded by the thoughts of traffic, cost and the fact that every hooker for a 600 mile radius had rolled into town to expand their business.

No matter.  We would find a place in our little town that has music and some fun still to be had. I mean, really? Not everyone went downtown to celebrate Superbowl style, right?

Oh. They did?  Wow. Hmmmm.

Well, how about that.

After a ridiculous stop into one place that you had to apparently be over 50 and deeply into Donna Summers to enjoy, we gave up.  Declared defeat.  Took our toys out of the sandbox and go home.

But NO!

Why not relive some glory of our youth and try to do a late night Waffle House run….remember those? After the bars closed, some greasy hashbrowns seemed to just be the perfect topper to a good night?

As it hadn’t been a good night so far, we should have known it wouldn’t go well.

Just as we were getting ready to leave the restaurant, our need for bacon appeased, a group of kids come into the Waffle House and announce, “Hey, there’s a crying baby in a car in the parking lot, someone should check on that.”

They looked at us quite pointedly, as if to say “you look like the type who’d have popped a couple of kids out of that body, you should really go check on that baby”.

We thought they were joking…it was late, it was dark, it was cold and it’s not like stupid kids haven’t been known to walk in and make ridiculous statements before…especially in a Waffle House in the middle of the night.

Natalie and I paid our bill and headed out.

And stopped dead in our tracks.

The car next to us?  Yeah, there really are three tiny kids sleeping in the car….no adult…engine off…SLEEPING IN THE CAR.

Did I mention before it was a roasting 41 degrees last night?  BABIES IN THE CAR! My brain exploded.

Apparently, the warning that a baby was crying jarred something in the memory of the mom because she walked out of the restaurant, opened the door, made sure there were still three and then closed the door and went BACK into the restaurant.  Leaving her BABIES IN THE CAR. The babies that oh-wow-check-that-out-isn’t-that-unexpected didn’t have ONE single carseat between the three of them.

We dialed 911. We reported the mom and the car and the license plate and then you know what we find out from talking to the police after?  They can’t do anything to her!  As long as she can see the car and the engine isn’t running (because THAT would be dangerous), she’s not doing anything wrong.

**NOTE to self:  that whole “I can’t get a babysitter, so I can’t go out” thing isn’t a problem anymore….just make sure you get a window seat and you can do whatever you want!  Good to know. **

So, needless to say, 35th birthday, you really have nowhere to go but UP from here.  No pressure, but if you could just go ahead and make some nice, fluffy, good things happen, it would be much appreciated.

Looking forward to another big year.

Sincerely,

Anissa

**Updated to add – My kids? Rock.  They gave me sweet gifts and lots of love and made everything ok.  The best kids EVER.