Hello 31. Nice to meet you.

"It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy." -Lucille Ball

This was the start to my morning. Or actually the sounds of footsteps slowly creeping upstairs as to not slosh coffee about while I slumbered into a slow wake-up at the refreshing age of 31. I registered the mug setting down on the stack of books loaded upon my nightstand. I lessened my partial sleep when I heard the shower water gush into the wall and the slink of the curtain rings across the railing. I'm warm in bed, I thought. Do I move? Well yes, Ginger, there's toasting coffee on your nightstand. Can't let that get warm. 

And while I may just embrace this age since 30 seems so young and juvenile (cue laughing - but not enough laughing to deepen any wrinkles on my face). When we were out at the concert on Saturday night, I embraced my life, "I'm going to be 31 on Monday." 

"No way. You look like 22."

Ummm, yes. I am. But I have the boobs, thighs and ass of a 31 year old. Trust me. And the mirror.

Thanks to my Ginger mama for the lack of pigment which forced me to slather with sunscreen since the age of 6 months while my chubby body enjoyed the Oregon summers. Sunscreen is your friend and helps you look far younger than the DH wives, XO wives, and CO wives you'll meet. This is a good thing. Life's about competition - they drive a minivan, I'm just now competing with crow's feet.

This weekend I also treated myself to an impromptu 'You want flowa?" shellac manicure at the salon.

"Bitch, throw the hairtie."

Eventually I crawled my ass out of bed and walked the 24 steps to my desk to begin 8 hours of countdown until I could get to presents and dinner. Because what's the point of growing a year older if I don't get cool shit to compensate for the decline in my skin's elasticity?

Mr. Wookie was exceptional this year as he was not only present for this event, but he strengthened the "happiness factor" that I felt was missing in my life. He's sensed and heard about my uncomfortable-ness with moving back here. My social circle is non-existent, minus the cat. The lack of sunshine, beaches, and In N Out is just cramping my style. So his sole effort was supplying a reason to "fall" for Virginia. I've also been complaining about the change in seasons.

So what did I get?!?!?

He bought me a new hammock - one that's not destroyed by the sun's rays after 3 years in SoCal beams. He also 'splurged' on the deluxe hammock pillow for that extreme laziness and relaxation. The best part? The hammock is navy and white...and my 'car blanket' is navy. [A car blanket is that shoddy/outside-okay blanket you keep in your trunk for baseball games, picnics, and galore that you don't mind getting dirty.] So my new challenge while being here is 'How long can I lounge in my hammock? At what degree will I force myself in?'

Stay tuned.

He bought me those shove-in-the-ground wine glass holders...and yes, I've already used them from my hammock's reach.

He bought me a new book...

(This trend is amazing!)

He bought me a stinking monthly trial subscription to Stumptown!! He mentioned that while it's crisp in the morning, we can warm up with fancy coffees to try - we're also buying a half-cord of wood, but that's not a birthday present...just a winter necessity.

And I'm still waiting on my finale gift, which is coming from overseas, and has to go through Customs. Damn. He's said it's the heaviest. Dun dun dun!

So after the pomp and circumstance of flowers on the table, wrapping paper on the floor, and a new Chilean Malbec in the decanter, we trekked the half-dozen or so blocks to a swanky little dinner joint over by the hospital. I had the duck; he had the tenderloin. We split the recommended wine for the evening. And we gawked at the amount of people still out at this hour (it was past 7pm - we're old, what can we say?).

So here I am, 31 and unbelievably happy. I never thought being this side of 30 would have been this great. Join me, will you? You bring the wine. I've got the wrinkle creams.