Post-Birthday Stress Syndrome

Sure, there's the expected let-down after an anticipated event is over, but then there's also the Holy-Moses-what-was-I-thinking? of the birthday party. Stop me if you've heard this before, but have you ever woken up on a Saturday morning with the song Big Shot by Billy Joel playing over and over in your head? Have you ever been riding in a subway train, in yesterday's clothes, with all the happy, shiny, virtuous people and been stricken with a particulary cringe-worthy memory of the last night's festivities? If you've never cursed yourself for not bringing sunglasses on your evening out, you may not be able to undertsand. All in all, it was a successful party and a heck of a lot of fun, and I actually didn't do anything too embarrassing, but I think I scared off a new young friend who must think I'm completely depraved. Now, I'm somewhat depraved, but my intentions are always good. Plus, I understand that my antics fall under the "entertaining, although I wouldn't do it," rather than the "someone should get her some help" category. In other words, more Osbournes than Anna Nicole Smith.

All I can say is, thank goodness swimsuit season is over.

Oh, and I got lovely presents. My friends rock. So many people that I hadn't seen out in a while and that haven't been able to make it to previous parties attended. I only have one blank spot from Friday night, and it's that I can't recall who gave me the dozen pink roses! Can you believe it? Maybe the trauma of being given a sunflower (I don't blame her, she didn't know about my phobia) blocked all other flower related memories from my mind. I don't even remember the reported sunflower-induced freak-out very well. I'm sure it was minor. But, the roses. They smell great, but they're already drooping. Flowers are so sad.

Next Friday is the Kitsch Inn reunion party at Don Hill's. There is no doubt that this party will rock. Let's cross our fingers that I don't break a bone or sprain a joint at this one, okay?