a party? pour moi? why, yes please.

Every now and then you find yourself in a good place in life. It's the kind of place where all the other stuff, the stuff that sucks, is made okay because you're in a good place. And by good place I mean people. Because you are surrounded by good people, all the stuff that sucks is made better.

Youknowwhatimean?

You do, right? You totally know what I mean, because I explain things so succinctly that you instantly know what I mean.

If you don't, then allow me to paint you a picture.

I am struggling with my little friend Gemma right now. She has a bee in her bonnet about something and she won't divulge what.

Like how I incorporated part of the name of this blog just there?

I am a wordsmith.

Anyway, I am not here to talk about Gemma today. I will discuss her when I am feeling less like stabbing her in the eye.

Today we are talking about the good people that live on the periphery of all my crap and make it all bearable. It's actually pretty bearable anyway, don't get me wrong.

But these people, oh these people, how I love them so.

Over the last few years of my life I have found myself intertwined with some amazing women who have become my dearest friends, my entertainment, my sounding board, my complaints receiver, my antagonists and my happy place. The diversity would blow your mind. It blows mine, that's how I know.

These funny gals tried, and for awhile succeeded, in attempting to mastermind, behind my back, a surprise birthday party for my 40th. (As a belated birthday gift from me to you, I am giving you commas, because I don't care what they say, the comma is way underused and one of the most powerful grammatical tools of our lifetime. I use it freely here on my blog because at the university the jerks we call professors frown upon such awesomeness as the comma.)

Focus.

My friends. They tried to throw me a surprise party. A party whose plans I foiled by happening upon the man receiving a strange text, over his shoulder, bless him, he tries so hard, that had both my name and the initials SOA in it.

Well, this cannot be tolerated.

While the man slept that night I rummaged through his texts and screen-shotted the one in question and sent it to my friends. What is this? I cried. What could be happening here? I cried. Wouldn't you have it? They were the culprits behind it. I should have known better, but it didn't even occur to me.

Cover. Blown.

I could have gone along with it but Gemma would have none of it. I became a woman obsessed with knowing the truth. Silly girls tried to have the man in on it but we all know the man is incapable of keeping secrets from me.

It cannot be done. Trust me, he's tried.

So, my wonderful friends threw me a wonderful party. We all dressed up like biker chicks and piled on the makeup and hairspray and tattoos. They showered me with a day at the spa and for that I will be forever grateful because, well......because it's a day at the spa.

Duh.

If you are wondering where the pictures of me are....there are none. None that turned out even half way decent. But that's okay. Look at that cake!