Birthday booty called

Yesterday, I turned 26.  Not only did Violet send me an e-card, so did OkCupid (yes, I'm still on it, and details will be coming soon).  They sent me a picture of a cupcake.  They said, "Happy Birthday Grayer!  Still single?" Hence, the one lone cupcake.  They changed my age on OkCupid for me.  I'm no longer mid-twenties.  I'm mid-late twenties.  Ugh.  Is this a marketing strategy?  To remind patrons that they are older and still alone??  Thanks, I hadn't noticed.  Birthdays aren't as fun as they used to be, but before I get too wistful about my mom making me waffles for breakfast and bringing cupcakes into school, we must remember the single greatest birthday gift a singleton like myself can receive: Birthday Booty.

Yesterday was a normal day, except for the fact that I inexplicably woke up too early and my hair looked fantastic.  I worked a long ass day and came home with just enough time to be sung to over the phone by the parentals, before my guests arrived.  I decided against an obligatory dinner out with friends and instead chose to have a few girl friends over for a craft night.  An apron-making party.  (If you've never heard of this, it's because it's not a thing.  But I do highly recommend it). They brought me flowers and wine, I provided them with cute fabric and a pattern.  We went to work in my kitchen.  We worked and worked until it was suddenly 10:30 pm, we hadn't even started the sewing yet, and I had obligations to attend to.  I shooed them out of my house with promises of finishing later this week and made a mad dash to Financial Frank's.

When you show up at a guy's house at 11 pm, you're there for one thing and you both know it.  He however, was still watching the Bachelorette with his roommate (he lives with 3 girls, 3 hot girls).  I sat down with them and in 15 minutes I was sucked in and calling all men douchebags (Don't even get me started on Bentley!).   Frank was pleased that I could bond with his roommate via men-bashing, but also impressed that I think girls are idiots too (Honestly Ashley, you knew him for a week, stop crying already!).  We eventually got back to his room where he made all my birthday wishes come true.  Seriously, that was the one thing I wanted for my birthday and what I wanted from Financial Frank.   A booty call.  It's not slutty because it's my birthday.  Obviously.  And at least this year I won't be crippled with a hangover the next morning (although I did briefly fall asleep at work today, I had a really late night).

So here's to being 26.  May it be a year full of great hair days, fabulous crafty friends, and enough sober booty to go around.