Cathead informed us all last night that I was entering the most amazing year of my life because, as we all 13 tried to cram ourselves into the elevator, women who are 28 are wise, beautiful, and f-ing hot. And that is a quote.
And I feel good about his idea about 28 year-old women. He enlightened us with an hour-long tirade about how he worshipped 28 year olds when he was younger and how now, even though he’s in his 30’s, he keeps track of how old he is based on how far away he is from 28. “I adore you,” he’d tell me all night long while we downed our Skols and homemade caipirinhas at my kitchen bar, and as much as I’d like to admit that flattery gave way to doubt toward the end of the night, it didn’t and I pretty much felt, when everything was all said and done, the best in my life: full of hope, confidence, and not in the least hung over.
So you see, I hosted a shindig last night at my place. Dennis and I went shopping yesterday to buy food for my friends–“light apps,” I’d advertised on the invitation. Nearly R$200 later, I looked in the cart and figured maybe we’d bought a bit too much: cheese platters, hot sandwiches, cold sandwiches, wine, beer, caipirinhas, fruit salad, pizzas with all the awesome toppings (spinach, mushrooms, pineapple, ham, artichoke, sundried tomatoes, garlic); it was going to be a veritable feast and I was only praying I had enough friends to help make the feast disappear.
But this is why they’re all my friends: we don’t have any of it left over. My friends know how to eat, drink, AND dance to excellent 80’s music like “Eye of the Tiger.”
All of us in that photo are 28. And, if I don’t say so myself, f-ing hot.
I was supplied not only with the company of my friends, but I was presented with sunflowers, a bottle of wine, a CD of Seu Jorge and Ana Carolina, a bazillion movie rentals (my friends seem to know I have a wee addiction to movies), a papyrus print from Egypt, earrings, a shirt, and chocolate waffles. And to top it off, my friends gave me a chocolate cake with layers of chocolate, and for a candle: a burning popsicle stick. (I have to give them props for being the resourceful teachers they are. No candle? No problem. Something’s gotta burn, may as well be wood.) And they sang me a song nice and loud at midnight knowing full well I hate to be sung to. Fifteen minutes later, my downstairs neighbor called and asked us to keep it down. Apparently she couldn’t handle our rockin’ out to Survivor and Michael Jackson. I’m sure she was jealous, considering she’s no longer 28. And therefore, according to Cathead, no longer f-ing hot.
Today, Sunday, my real birthday, was divine. Last year’s and this year’s birthdays with Dennis have been wonderful since he basically lets me dictate everything and we have my idea of a Perfect Day. So it started off with a mango/banana/papaya/apple vitamina and chocolate waffles, and continued with a trip to Casa da Fazenda, which is about 25 minutes away in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road. Casa da Fazenda is a beautiful, beautiful old farm that serves breakfast and lunch. We drove out with a few of my friends and ate lunch for two hours and then went for a tiny walk around the farm and then fell asleep in hammocks. Did I mention there was no threat of rain? Only puffy happy clouds floating merrily by?
Now I sit here writing (writing!) because Dennis is making us dinner and we are about to watch another movie. This has been, all-in-all, one of the best entire weekends I’ve had since I have moved to this country. And apparently, now that I am officially 28, I am wise, beautiful, and f-ing hot. I am quite sure, really, this will be a very good year.