Birthday parties and why I want to be in a band...

The farther I get into summer, the more I love it. Seriously. All I did yesterday was: woke up late, threw on a swimsuit, sat in a reclining chair by the pool reading for two hours, worked out, went shopping with Miles, and attended a birthday party. Ridiculous, right? I love summer.

I was thinking about birthdays, and about how fast the years fly by. I remember my 16 birthday vividly-- my 18th--etc. I remember being there when Mason was born and he just celebrated his 10th birthday. This year Grant will be 25. Yesterday Cliff turned 30 (Congratulations, buddy! Instead of taking it badly I have never seen you happier!). In two weeks I will be 23. Whoa. I can remember sitting in home economics in seventh grade, working on some hopelessly cheesy timeline of what I wanted my future to be like. I found it earlier this year and as I pulled it out, looking at magazine clippings of what I wanted my future husband to look like (I am sure those of you who know me will laugh at the fact that even when I was 12 years old I wanted a skinny guy in glasses), my future kids, my house, etc. I looked to the second page which was the timeline and sat there in a moment of silence when it said 2003-- get accepted into medical school and get married, and 2004--have my first child. (Insert screeching brake or a record on a turntable coming to a complete, abrupt stop right here.) What? I have had this same conversation with countless friends, and the only thing we can say is: "Oh, man. Oh, well." I may never be a doctor (maybe not of literature, and sure not of actual medicine). I may not be married or have children by the time I wanted to, but I sure didn't see the many blessings I have encountered on my timeline, and it's nice to have those surprises. One of the magazine kids on my timeline was ugly anyway, so maybe it's better that that didn't pan out. jk.

Okay, so the birthday party was a full success, thanks to Ashley and Toby. Homemade lasagna, salad, sangria, cake, neapolitan ice cream (Napoleon, for you), presents, etc. Miles and I scoured most every store in Abilene looking for the perfect shirt, but we ended up finding the perfect hat for Cliff's gift. Ashley always wanted to make him a shirt to wear at gigs that said "Call Me" and had his phone number. Well, Miles and I were in AE and low and behold, I look down and there is a semi-trucker hat that is dark yellow with a navy bill and has a patch that reads "Call Me" and has a space underneath for a person to write their number in with a sharpee. After he opened it and pledged to wear it at Friday and Saturday's gigs, I wrote his number in and he ended up sporting it later last night when we went to Bedford Street for drinks. Talking to him over the past few weeks makes me realize how many seriously crappy girls there are out there, and most of them have made their way to him. I think he and I may be magnets for crazy people, however he deserves all of the sympathy because he has actually had to share living quarters with a few of them. Wowza.

Okay, so now the "I want to be in a band" portion of this entry. I went to Blues Night or Jam with the Band Night or whatever at ACL last week and I was talking to a few of my friends playing pool and I see several beautiful girls approach Cliff, whisper in his ear as their hands are around his neck, and walk away. I was like, hmmm.... Then I began recalling nights where Ashley would be playing and guys would come up, offer to buy her a drink, write numbers on napkins, whisper things to her, and walk away. There is something to this. Maybe it's because they are both musically talented and mysterious. I have always believed musicians to have a certain amount of mystique. I need some of this mystique. Can you purchase it? I wonder if it would be packaged or bottled. Ashley...you're married; defer the least slimy guys to me. Maybe I could just stand up on stage with a guitar (real or air), or maybe you could give me a tambourine or something. It could work. Cliff, you didn't even need the hat...and by the way, though the girl at ACL's boyfriend was big and looked kind of intimidating, it didn't seem like she cared; she was sitting five feet from him and she stood 2 cm. from you. That should say something...I am just not sure what. I told you we could take him. Next time I will jump on his back and cover his eyes and you can just start punching. We watch The Contender. He should have been scared. Also, it's only a matter of time before Mindy (I'm glad you know the correct name now...for future reference. Before last night she had been Lindy/Mindy/Nicky, whatever.) comes around. Just keep wearing the hat around YourMomLooksLikeNickyHilton; it will so happen. If not, we've got the pact...seven years.

Rachel: You can't have two back-ups!
Phoebe: Come on, it only makes sense to back-up your back-up.

If anyone wants to start a fake rock band, where we just get up, get the attention of attractive men, and lip sync, let me know. I have only gotten one response thus far and it was from Ashlee Simpson and I was like, "Umm...no, Ash. People already know you're an imposter and I don't need that rep in a band that is just starting out." Then I told her I liked her haircut or something.