So I bought army pants and flip flops.
If you’ve never seen the movie “Mean Girls,” first of all go see it immediately because it’s brilliant and, second, you might think this blog is a lot more about Jonathan’s pants than it actually is.
When Joanna decided the theme of our birthday party would be “movies,” and clearly we’d both go as Cady Heron in army pants and flip flops, I figured I’d go out and just find some camo pants. But apparently they’re out of style, and don’t exist. This country doesn’t care nearly enough about the army or about movies written by Tina Fey. I actually resorted to trying on the smallest pair of men’s camo pants I could find at Walmart, and they were so big that they wouldn’t even stay on my body. Which I was honestly pretty relieved about, because I’m not ready to have reached that point in my life where I’m able to wear Jonathan’s pants. (That does not apply to Jonathan’s basketball shorts.)
Long story short (actually, this has already been a long story for a plot line about pants), one time I ordered a cheetah-print sweater dress from a clothing catalogue made for teenagers, and not that I still check that catalogue every month because that would be totally silly and juvenile, but they happen to have just come out with camo-print stretch skinny jeans (read between the lines: jeggings), and they happen to be on a buy-one-get-one sale because apparently not even teenagers appreciate the true value of the armed forces or Tina Fey anymore either. I’m really alarmed about the dwindling values of this country’s youth.
And of course no theme party is a true theme party without themed snacks.
The reason you see ketchup and mustard on the table is because our high school friend Alex pulled a Ron Swanson and made a vat of hotdogs a little after midnight. Thank you, Alex.
Thank you to everyone who came to the party. I’m sorry I didn’t get pictures of more of you. I really prioritized guarding that pumpkin-pie popcorn over everything else.
Even though I can now legally rent a car in most US states, 25 was a rough birthday for me, for obvious Afghanistan reasons. I spent my day at work hoping to hear from Jonathan, but trying not to care too much. Which means I basically flipped from my work email screen to my Gmail screen every 10 minutes, hoping for a little green dot, and then pretending not to care when there wasn’t one. So much for that whole “turn it off” attitude.
But, as I’ve mentioned, I’m lucky to have friends who double as my coping mechanisms.
And when I got home from work with still no word from Jonathan, the coping continued courtesy of my friend Blane, who I want to mention doesn’t even like Harry Potter.
My friends know me and tolerate me better than one could ever hope.
I had a blast at the party (which is usually the case when my sister is in charge), but I spent the night with my cell phone clutched in my hand, hoping at some point to feel the two-pulse vibrate that signifies an IM, but still pretending not to really care, because I’m very nonchalant. At 11:30pm, my phone finally rang. The caller ID said I was getting a call from Palmdale, California, and when I answered, there was nobody there. Repeat that scenario twice, and then finally a muffled, “Can you hear me? Happy birthday.” Because apparently Jonathan’s not in Afghanistan at all; he’s just in Southern California, with lousy cell reception.
P.S. I could only hear about half the phone conversation I had with Jonathan, but I was able to let him know about the leopard-print Harry Potter wand and matching sunglasses, to which his response was “Oh. God.” I can already tell that 25 is going to be great.