It was my birthday, bitches.

SO,  Of course, I wore this shirt.

 
 This was the 12th year of giving myself a birthday party. Sure, the hubby helps with some of the details, and ideas... and he does has the final say on the cost, but mostly, I think about a party I'd like to get invited to and then I make that happen for my friends. If you don't get my annual newsletter, you may have read about some of these past parties here or here or seen a video here, or just stalked the pictures on one of my Facebook pages. It's ok. Everyone has a secret.

I figured there was no better way to turn 51, than to make sure a great deal of beer was involved. Enter the date selection of MARCH 15. The closest Saturday to the biggest green beer holiday in the USA.

 So, of course,we rented a bus. Not the big charter thing that took us to the Sweetwater Festival and the comedy club a few years back, but a super cool party bus for 40. Check it out.

We picked up some leprechauns, loaded up a bucket of beers, filled the coolers with booze and  donned the green.

The entrance fee for the party bus was a bottle of vodka per couple. Some people thought that was too much vodka. Some people don't know Linda very well yet. This is me mixing up the first lemon drop shots.

                                           Happy smiling people.

 We went off searching for this. The elusive layered jello shot of Ireland.

Getting closer.

 Here we are, arriving at Mac McGee's where the doorman assured us he needed no ID or cover charge. "Not if you're pulling up in that!" he said.

 We took our green decor seriously, even the bus laser light show cooperated.

We danced a jig  as the Highlanders played, or wait, something smelled funny.

These guys cut a wide path through the bar

especially with the slam banging drummer with his big guns... and gut. ;)

 Back in the bus. The stickers say, "It's all about Linda." The hubster's idea.

 Cheese!

Wait.  Is that an empty cup? GARCON!

                       Our bus was famous. Look! It's Lady Gaga and George Clooney!

This dude really wanted a ride. We wanted to know what was under his kilt.

This might be direction giving, or dollar drying, or dance instructions...

      Lots of people stopped me to read my shirt. I met an awful lot of Teds.

On our way to the next stop, things got a little blurry.

       Kinda like this guy's fashion sense. But he sure pulled the ladies.

We met a few dogs. This one had 4 legs. Very long legs.

Our new gal pal was not shy about showing off her large assets.

Somewhere along the way, I needed to be fed. Swear that was a french fry.

                                      Photo op!  I have missed these girls.

                               
                                       Why yes, there was dancing.

                           
                                   And for once, I was glad to see the cops.

This is what happens when the big dog leaves, and we miss him.

Surgeon General reports excessive partying may cause orange beard growth.

 Right on time, the bus arrives to scoop us up.

                Here we are moments later, sounding off  for a head count.

Oops. We left one behind. Time to initiate Mission Saving Private Barry.

The entertaining of the troops.

                                                            'Nuf said.

Back home, we had a birthday tart.

With all these... tarts!

There was also cake.

Glad the number of candles wasn't exact...

                      What a fun day. Thanks to all my old and new friends.

                                     Now, let's have a little karaoke time.

Oh yes, we did.

If I was going to sum up the 51st birthday in one picture.

It would have to be this.

                                                Until next year, bitches.

We put the OY in Oyster Festival.

 It started out innocently enough. Me and KB, a nice New Jersey Jewish Girl, with me, the NY/CA/NH/PA/GA girl. There were lots of signs telling us where to go. Uphill. OY!

 There was the handbag check. False bottoms would have worked, as she barely checked and the guy in front of me snuck in his water bottle by jamming it under his flabby gut.

 This dude thought he was pretty cool. And the angry chick? She was just singing. She only dropped one beer and fell down once while we were near her.

Look, deer and beer. Get it? I got a free Jagerbomb from the biker dude at the Bloody Mary tent. You do not want to know more.

 This guitarist was sort of like Ozzy. Well, in that he had bad hair and was British. The band was called The Whizzers and Something?? OY!

 These guys grilled a whole truckload of oysters. they were hot. The oysters. not the guys. The guys were sweaty.

 These girls are saying, "But that's not what an oyster looks like. It's supposed to be on a plate with lemon and a fork, and a side of rice." OY!

 There were fancy table coverings everywhere. I felt like a Princess!

 KB found the ugliest oyster ever. We mocked it, then we sliced it open and ate it. Sorta like a girl fight.

 The celebrity anti-tongue salute. OY!

This is my finger 8 hours later, waiting for the MARTA train. The knuckle swelled up and bruised in another 3 hours. We are blaming the Oyster shucking knife. OY!

 This is our bucket of remains. Some others added to it and one guy came around and tried to steal our previously stolen lemons. Hey. What happens at the Oyster festival, stays at the Oyster Festival... unless you're reading this.

 We walked away from this place when it had a thirty person line. and then came back to try again, because hello? your tents are only serving BUDWEISER. OY!

This girl was telling her date how she wants him to um, dance with her later.

Maybe she will dress like this. Wait. Is that a snow shovel? OY!

  We went to a corner bar first. Across the street was this beautiful sight. I took bets on how many Midtown Hipsters would try to drag that back to their loft.

 We went to sit in the sun, up there, with some new friends. We ate meals that we forgot we ate. Thanks to the receipt crumpled in the bottom of my purse, we remembered later, and also noticed we paid for a shitload of drinks and someone's lobster roll. OY!

I won this shirt. Some old man tried to knock me down and take it. I gave him the stink eye and he backed off. Later, I gifted it to a guy at the bar as a prize for having the bushiest beard not on Duck Dynasty. I don't think he wanted it either.

 Here we are trying to look at two different cameras for a photo op. We had just tried promo Fireball shots. Yep. OY!

 This. Is. A. Midtown. Bartender.  You may look away now.

 It gets prettier at night, you notice?

Artful attempt number 503, according to my I-phone camera roll. OY!

 So that was an early start to my birthday month. Next up, Comedy night and strange dancing people: When Highland legs meet Latino feet on a skinny white girl. Stay tuned.