Birthdays Was the Worst Days

Now we sip Shirley Temples when we thirstay.

Hey now, biddies need their birthday beverages! (Preferably ones with extra cherries and extra... pink.)

This brings me to the important topic of birthdays. We all have a birthday (fortunately and unfortunately). Birthdays are a good indication of where you are in your life in terms of shittiness. Slutty birthday? You are probably going through your chlamydia phase (calm down, we all have been there. Whatever!). Shitty birthday? You are probably at that point in your life when you have maybe, meh, two, three friends? (and that's including your dog). Birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese's? You are owning shit right now.

My last birthday was spent very much alone. I was a sad young biddy indeed. They say that 22 is the loneliest number, don't they?

I guess no one really says that...

...but it was for me and that's all that fucking matters. My birthday celebration was a party of only three: me, a strawberry shortcake and my Wii. A birthday party for the books. In hindsight, I should have spiced it up a bit with a little sexy time...

Just a little high quality time with the mister. The mister... vibrator. (Avoid getting any burns though, that's a definite birthday DON'T.)

A lot of my childhood birthday parties have blended together at this point into one big muddled mess of eggless birthday cake (yeah, I'm fucking allergic to eggs) and karaoke. However, one birthday stands out as one of the BIGGEST disappointments of my life. It was at Fun Station. There was so much promise, so much hope that this would be the birthday party of my second grade dreams. I mean, hence, the name "FUN" Station. For anyone who has never had the privilege of enjoying this heavenly facility, it consists of wonderful, magical things. Fun Stationers can enjoy laser tag, arcade games and, my personal favorite, my pride and joy in life: roller blading. Roller blading is the most glorious, most fulfilling and, by far, the most rewarding sport of all time.

Whip It aside, that shit was my shit.

Everything was going great. I won a fuck load of tickets at the arcade and got myself a bunch of new fucking plastic frogs, a rainbow slinky and an airhead... cause I'm a G like that. My team even won laser tag. Then, for the grand finale, we had thirty minutes on the roller blading stadium. Just me, my favorite bitches and the stadium all to ourselves. What can be better? Answer: nothing. We were running shit.

I was gliding elegantly across the floor, all spotlight was on me. It was as if the whole room was watching. Who is that girl? They seemed to have been asking. Look how she blades so effortlessly, so beautifully. But then... then something unthinkable happened. One of the bitches stole my spotlight. For privacy purposes I will change the name of the offender. Dina Roadmer took a tumble. A tumble that ruined my 8th birthday party (and possibly my life?). Dina fractured her wrist and ended my self-centered eight year old roller blading dreams.

The only thing people remembered from that party was Dina fuckin' her shit up. No one cared about my laser tag victory OR my roller blading skills.

The party was almost perfect, almost.

I bring up the topic of birthdays for a very important reason. My birthday is fast-approaching and I am giving everyone a two month warning to:
A) make yourselves available to recreate my ruined 8th grade birthday
B) Buy me the best gift known to man/woman

Fun Station virgins, prepare yourself for the time of your life.

...but don't you fucking dare break any bones.

XOXO,
Jules