I love my birthday. Despite 18 years of K-BFA education and 12 years of working, I’ve never actually gone to school or work on August 10th. And I’ve spent 10 out of my last 12 birthdays traveling. This year, I chose a more relaxing beach getaway with some friends, but I still had five wishes for my big day. The first was that I didn’t have to get behind the wheel, and the second was that I eat lots of guacamole. Sherri made sure that happened by making an early morning run to Costco.
Yes we were in Mexico, and yes, she bought—gasp—PACKAGED guacamole. Two of them. But she also bought about 496 miniature chocolate brownies, a liter of Nutella, flan the size of a large deep dish pizza, and two bags of pretzels and chips that were taller than Belinda when stacked on top of one another. So all was forgiven. Plus, I can’t say that I wasn’t eager to shove layers of chocolate, flan, and Nutella in my mouth for breakfast once the guacamole was gone. Oh yeah, it happened. Over and over again.
I had a slight hangover from the night before at Baha Junkie where I forgot that I was turning 27 not 21. It was ladies night and alcohol was free. Yes, FREE. The most dangerous word in my vocabulary. The vodka started flowing like it was spring break and I was convinced I was just drinking watered down juice. That is until I was dancing on the bar, spinning the wheel of embarrassment in an attempt to get free shots. Of course I landed on “booty stamp” which sobered me up instantly. I was only hours away from my 27th birthday and I was acting like a college girl. I realized nobody was paying attention to me, I wasn’t the life of the party, I was just a mild embarrassment. So I kept whatever dignity I had left and hopped down off the bar, after getting my booty stamp of course.
Of course I forgot that entire portion of the evening until laying on the beach the next day and seeing this gem on my backside.
My third wish was to spend the day relaxing on an uncrowded beach, so after breakfast we drove about 35 minutes to get some sun and get rid of our headaches at Palmilla Beach. I’d forgotten to rinse my camera from the saltwater the day before and my camera started acting up so I was only able to get a few pictures. Happy birthday to me, right?
Palmilla Beach was a much smaller, less crowded beach than Medano Beach. The swimming area was protected from the harsh waves by a string of rocks crawling with black crabs. There was a concrete walkway leading to a handful of thatched umbrellas (free of charge might I add) set up along the beach. It looked like there was only one other group of tourists, and just a few locals picnicking, fishing, and gulping down fresh mango juice from the woman who pushed her tin cart through 100 degree heat. The sun was stealing what little water was left in my dehydrated, hungover body, and the saltwater was sure to zap up the rest. Our liters of ice water warmed up quickly, and we only made it a few hours before heading back to the pool at the apartment.
My fourth birthday wish was an authentic Mexican dinner, so the girls and I decided upon Villa Serena just a street away from the house. Sadly I’m more of a beef and beans kind of girl, and this place was primarily seafood. But we all ordered and shared, and overall I’d say it was an average Mexican meal. Not really anything to write about, but that could just be because I was really craving some beef.
Lastly, my fifth wish (I really sound like a greedy bitch, don’t I?) was that we start off a night of drinking at Cabo Wabo. Ever since I’d heard that the man (Sammy Hagar/Van Halen) my dad used to play on repeat after every Ozzy Osbourne album during my entire youth had his own bar in Cabo, I added it to my “semi-embarrassing places I must see” list.
I was stuffed from dinner and still exhausted from the night before. I just wanted to go home and get into stretchy pants and call it a night. But it was only 8pm. Determined not to feel old, I marched straight up to the bar and ordered a Long Island Iced Tea to get the night started.
Usually Long Islands get me very drunk very fast, but this one, nothing. That’s what happens when I drink after eating, it’s impossible to get drunk for like, four hours. And what kind of world would this be if I celebrated my birthday sober? So I went back up to the bar and told the bartender I need his strongest drink and I need it fast. He mixed up some fruity concoction that was a tad bit on the sweet side for my liking, but I shut up and drank it. Still sober. Then it was time to ignore my hatred of tequila, because trying a shot of Cabo Wabo at Cabo Wabo was also on my list.
Cabo Wabo was definitely a hangout for the slightly older crowd. We were among some of the youngest people there, and sadly we were seated watching our elders with rocking perms dance all around us. The memorabilia covering the walls was pretty awesome though, and after a few more drinks we finally got the nerve to bust out some dance moves of our own. I was just praying for Slash to walk out on stage and show these guys up.
I ended up maintaining a responsible, age appropriate buzz before heading home around 1am. The top was off the Wrangler and once we got away from the city lights I was mesmerized by the blanket of stars in the sky. I stood up on the seat, flailing out the top of the Wrangler while yelling some gibberish at the universe about my birthday (don’t worry, we were on the 5mph side streets and Sherri was the 100% sober driver). When we got to the house I made myself one last birthday cocktail and laid on the edge of the second-story balcony, staring at the stars. Belinda and Sherri went to sleep and I vowed to stay on that balcony until I saw a shooting star. I was a couple of days early for the Perseid Meteor Shower, but just as I was about to
pass out give up, a bright golden star shot across the sky. And just like that, another very happy birthday went down in the books.