Go Robyn, It’s Ya Birthday v.1.0-What Happens In Nashville…Eventually Winds Up On My Blog

As birthdays go, I’ve had a few. At last count, in fact—there were thirty of them.

Some quite memorable, some that I’d rather forget, and some, well, some that I don’t recall at all. With another one upon me in a mere nine days, I figured I’d dedicate the next few entries to recapping the past few birthdays, starting with my favorite—last year.

Birthday Shenanigans-The Thirtieth Year

Thirty, is the first birthday that people don’t look forward to.

Well, with the exception of a friend of mine who had a complete and total meltdown at the mere thought of entering into her twenty-third year. 

But, that’s another story, so, moving along…

Everyone’s amped to turn sixteen, because it means freedom—freedom in life…and from brands like Schwinn & Huffy.

And turning twenty one, means you can toss your McLovin id and buy your own goshdarned Pabst Blue Ribbon (because, they’re like a penny each and at that age, you’ve probably only got about ten bucks in your pocket to begin with), cancer sticks, or get into that bar/club that you’ve been sneaking into since sixteen granted you all that freedom—and you can do it all without the fear of wondering if you’re going to wind up on an episode of Dateline NBC: Underage & Breaking the Law.

But, what about thirty? Approaching thirty, most people realize that they won’t be in their twenties anymore and get the “it’s all downhill from here” (or as Ethan Tremblay would say, it’s all uphill) mentality. They start thinking about how much closer to the end of their life they are, and how time only seems to speed up the older they get. Thanks to a friend of mine who turned thirty a few months before me, I was thinking a little differently. She EMBRACED thirty, and as a result, she influenced me to do the same.

I began thinking of this whole turning thirty thing as the beginning of the rest of my life, instead of the end. Turning thirty meant I was primed. I was ready for whatever else life was ready to throw my way.

Thirty was coming at me like a spider monkey, and well, I was ready to grab it by the tail, throw a red vest with gold trim, a matching bellboy cap, and a leash on it, and make it work for me.

And maybe that mentality is what made it the best birthday ever, but, I’d be willing to bet my spider monkey, that it was probably everything else. Everything like…

•  …turning thirty on Friday the 13^th and not having a single stroke of bad luck.

•  …me, in a bold move, cutting my hair for the first time in ten years. Motherloving liberation at its finest.

•   …renting a house in my favorite city (Nashville) and having ten fantastic friends fly/drive in from LA, St. Louis, Tulsa, Huntsville, and Nashville to help me celebrate.

•  …receiving one of my favorite things (vinyl…John Mayer, no less) from one of my most favoritest people in the world. Yes, favoritest.

• …having one of my best friends create something that represents me, with her own hands and time…and then me, opening it…in a parking garage.

• …having the most creative friends ever, who, instead of having cake or some other confectionary delight brought out—had the waiter concoct a bacon sundae, which consisted of scoops of mashed potatoes with gravy and strips of bacon, in the likeness of a hot fudge sundae. I love my friends. And I love bacon.

• …unimaginably entertaining karaoke by my friends who braved the stage of Nashville’s WannaBe’s. Lucky for you, you don’t have to imagine it. I had my camera with me. And it was rolling. I may reap death for this, but, here ya go!

•  …one friend, forty-five sheets to the wind, spotted hiding under a table at some point. O_O

• …going to the bathroom to check on an uh…sick friend, and peeping my head under the stall at the risk of catching vomit to the face—WHO does that? Or, when I commenced to crawling under the stall to join she and our other friend, and reached out to put my hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, and was stopped short with a “DO. NOT. TOUCH. ME.” …I’m convinced that at that very moment, I was in the stall with the female version of Damien. Needless to say, I took consoling her, off of my agenda—and I got the hell out of there.

• …the extraordinary fall. Which happened after karaoke, when we decided it was time to move onto the bull riding phase of the night…and a friend slipped on some liquid (no one really knows what it was) and went splat in the middle of the floor, much to her chagrin, in front of a cute guy. Though, he did offer to help her up. I’m sure that helped….because everyone wants to bust their ass in front of a guy that they think is cute, and then have him offer to help them up, right? Yeah…right….of course.

•   …me, riding a bull…in a dress. (*never before seen footage!*)

• …dancing [to include doing ‘the robot’] on an elevated stage… in a night club…with a rodeo clown…in full makeup and rodeo clown gear. Totally happened. I can’t make this stuff up, and in the event that you think I can, there’s photographic proof.

• …all…that…tequila…

•  …the hot dog stand. I can’t even begin to tell you about those shenanigans. Ridiculousness—in epic proportions.

• …hearing “I’m 32 years old” from a drunk friend. At bi-minute intervals. For no good reason whatsoever.

•  …my friend, sleeping in the middle of the dining room floor and waking up the next morning not having a clue where he was, or why he was there…he’s 32 years old.

•   …in the a.m., hearing about the adventures of a couple of friends who left early the night before headed back to our rental, due to uh…illness, and got kicked out of one cab…due to uh…illness, and dropped off in a sketchy area with “some freaks with tattoos…no offense, Robyn”…and had to wait for a second cab to pick them up, while hoping not to get maimed by tattooed freaks…

…not even gonna lie, if everyone with tattoos looked like this, I’d be scared too.

• …the bad bacon…well, wait, that…that was just sad. 

• Brunch at my favorite brunch spot in Nashville, Garden Brunch Cafe, and quotes like: “it tastes like a sex on the beach, minus the sex.”

Good times. And that only covers half of it…