Surprises and Spatulas!

n35801988_32669969_7231 After working a six day week… the sixth day being hours upon hours of applying foundation to elderly ladies, convincing them to buy overly priced and limited edition eye shadows, and all while in close and fragrant proximity to samples of No. 5 and Coco Mademoiselle (yes, of course I got the bastard station next to all of the perfumes and away from the products. sweet deal.) I was excited to go home, remove my black dress clothes, rub my eye make-up until I resembled a heroin addict and soak in a bubble bath, only to follow these acts with lounge-wear and the promise of an excessively early and un-Saturday-like bedtime. Ah, bliss.

I got off of work, and Peter was there to grab diner with me in Orange County. He had visited some friends in the area earlier that day… so we made the most of our situation and went to eat at Koji’s at The Block in Orange. I ordered the beef and chicken shabu meal, and made my way through half of it, minorly irritated that I was cooking my own food. The irritation was laced with frequent pauses to discuss the level of my tiredness as well as sipping of a lemon drop that I had ordered pre-meal. After diner I managed to stop into old navy to see if they had any good deals going… and then Pete drove me home. I had rubbed my eyes in the car, creating that dramatic raccoon effect, and kept on talking to him about how I could not wait to get into the bubble bath and call it a night.

We arrived home about an hour after our departure. Peter received a phone call when we got in… or maybe he had placed it. All i know is that I asked who it was and his response was “It’s Monica. I think she is drunk. She wanted to borrow a spatula.” To me, this made sense. Monica is our neighbor. We are close. Close enough to have each others keys, and call each other pet names like “muffin” or “hotcakes”. Upon hearing that she was intoxicated and looking for a spatula… I did not suspect any weird activity, but rather mumbled “What? Seriously… doesn’t she have her own spatula? I have borrowed it before.”

While muttering these mumbles of annoyance and general inconvenience… the door to our apartment is opened… and SURPRISE!!!

There are people in my apartment. Lots of people. Wait… people I haven’t seen in forever. Friends. Of mine. I think I peed my pants a little… Wait… is Monica looking for a spatula? No… there is a Happy Birthday banner up… Oh shit. It’s a surprise party for me. AHHH! Wait… so no one needs a spatula?

I was immediately fed a glass of wine to lessen the initial shock. This glass of wine, was soon followed by two or so more glasses. The shock was hard to shake.

Peter had planned this rocking surprise party, and I had been none the wiser. Sneaky Pete. Seriously… I was clue-less to the max.

Now, I know this might be some backwards ideology, but two of more of my immediate thoughts when I had actually come to and realized that there was indeed a party going on for me, and no one was hunting for a spatula were as follows:

Um, I really wish I was not wearing this… and also that I had not rubbed my make-up in an unflattering way to make me appear much more drunk in the inevitable pictures which will be taken no matter how much I request otherwise.

Also… my office is messy. Oh God. Did anyone clean the bathroom? Are my underwear in there? Shoot.

Now, to change any of these things I would have had to KNOW that the surprise party was coming, and that would make it much less/if any of a surprise. I just wish there was a way to know evenings where it was not appropriate to look like a raccoon faced hobo in black business attire, and to preemptively pick up those undies that you might have dropped from your laundry pile somewhere in the hallway. Granted, after wine glass number two or so, and multiple conversations with friends from all different circles… I relaxed into my unsightly appearance and started to enjoy myself.

It was so great to see everyone! So many faces I hadn’t seen in forever. Thanks for making my birthday really special this year… and for not mentioning that make-up was all over my face, or that I smelled like four different old lady perfumes fused together….

You guys are the best!

And if any of you ever need to borrow a spatula… you know where to find me.


~ by soartsyithurts on December 2, 2008.

One Response to “Surprises and Spatulas!”

  1. Wish I coulda been there, can’t wait to see photos!

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