Cupcakes and Bathtime and Joy.

My birthday…in moving pictures and still moments and a few words here and there…

I even had a special surprise delivery from my friend Julie, who snuck in an adorable little charm of one of my fave inappropriately named snacks!

The cast of the show I’m rehearing now, Rent Boy Ave, bought me some old school cupcakes! AND sang and everything!

I said fuck it, took myself to Ruth’s Chris because meat is love. Oh, and while I was up on Cathedral Hill, I bought myself a bed. I’ve been mulling it for a long time and I knew this was it. I wish I could have gotten it the same day, but it is OK. This just extends the joy of the birthday extravaganza!

I packed this morning for my Hotel and Spa day. This was the funniest packing job ever. Bunny PJs, Hugh Heffalump, a shitload of spa stuff, the trusty Wahl, and off we went!

Thumbs up to Arrow Cab for getting me downtown fast as hell.

I was hoping for an early check-in, but the room wasn’t ready. Dammit…forced to shop at Lush and to get a manicure & pedicure at Nova Spa.

I e’en stopped at Cole Hardware…made a purchase of an item I’ve wanted for a while and was hoping to…er…re-purpose for use later this evening. I’m still not sure if I’m gonna keep it, but at least I have it.

I think the boys at the Hardware store are gonna be talking about that one for a while. Yeah, I obfuscated a little and told them it was for a friend but that was not entirely a falsehood. It is meant to share…to be offered in conjunction with access to me. And I was honest about the fact I was perverting it. So there :-p

Unfortunately, not long after I took delivery of the DEVESTATINGLY FUCKING AWESOME cupcakes that Jennifer from Cups and Cakesdelivered, a series of text messages squished flat my hope that I’d have some company this evening. My erstwhile companion, the Ex-Un-Boyfriend, was not making it happen.

But even as I was stomaching that jagged little pill, I thought “Well, fuck it. I’ll just have to wear BOTH bathrobes myself and now there won’t be any squabbling over that third strawberry….right…?

The room is cosy. The bathroom is awesome…here’s a little tour –

Around 7-ish, my massage finally came through. Fie on you, downtown SF, for having garages that CLOS. Total fail. I wound up having to throw down extended ducats for parking for my massage, Praise Ganesha though, my masseuse, Saint, was awesome! Thanks to my buddy Suzanne for recommending her. Nothing like a big ol’ butch dyke pummelling you for 2 hours to make you feel alive!  She rearranged furniture in order to make room for the table, but I also suspect she was showing off the butchitude as well. Who am I to complain? I mean, I wouldn’t wanna fuck up my mani! ;-)  Hey fuck you I can too do femme.

I scored major points telling her my “Drinkin; with Lucy Lawless” story.  Kills ’em every time :-D

Then it was time for bath number two.

The first one was a warm up, really.

I discovered the power of the Lush Karma Bubble bar and how violent it can be in conjunction with a spa tub that isn’t quite full.

…SPA BUKKAKE!!

Candles, crazy fucking epic bubbles, it was freaking ridiculous, everybody. I made bubble castles, a bubble fort, fought with bubble giants, and burrowed underneath until I was hella claustrophobic!

This is the bubble bath Mom never let you take because they make a fucking disaster. but you know what? IT IS A HOTEL ROOM! THAT IS WHAT THEY ARE FOR!!

I realized, pretty late, that my dietary needs today had been met by caffeine and Red Velvet Cupcakes.

Sure, I can get behind indulgence, but that’s just ridiculous. Plus I was feeling pummeled and achey from the massage and I needed fud.

The hotel restaurant, a good one, was closed today but the concierge recommended a little bistro up the street so I rinsed off and rolled over.

I couldn’t have stumbled into a more perfect ending.

I was originally gonna get my shit to go, but I decided, fuck it. Let’s stay here!

The bartender was very pretty, and friendly, and so that is never a bad thing. I sometimes feel weird sitting alone at a bar, but I was OK about it. I told the adorable bartender, Heather, that it was my birthday, and what I’d been up to all weekend. She declared it “Awesome!” and I agreed.

Folks, lemmie tell you. This place, Anabelle’s Bar & Bistro, is the shit. They have a late-night Happy Hour with $5 small plates. I guess they have drink specials but that wasn’t my focus…obvy!

I had a Caesar salad WITH anchovies, thank you, little hand-cut chicken bites (Rad.) and prosciutto wrapped jumbo prawns. Holy shit it was so good!

I asked Heather if she could hook me up with a virgin cocktail that did not suck and she knocked my Crocs off with a “Pregnant Hemingway” which is a virgin Mojito that has been molested by Ginger Beer and the shit is GOOD. So I officially have a crush on her.

I was on the verge of ordering another plate of the shrimp and was waffling when Heather said “Well, would it change your decision if I said desert was coming?”

She brought out a hazelnut torte, with a candle, set it in front of me, and wished me a happy birthday.

It took all  Icoulddo do not to cry, I was so moved. The buzzed Southern Gentleman next to me wished me a happy birthday and then Heather and the other folks at the bar reacted with profound disbelief when I tole ’em I’d turned 40. I’ll take that reaction, any day. And to top it off, a sweet couple sitting behond me bought my beverage.

So folks, there it is.

Heather, Jennifer and Saint, thank you for making my 40th birthday one that touched not only my tired body but awakened my heart to how beautiful even simple things can be.

Everyone on Twitter and FaceBook who sent wish after wish, you all pulled away the fog of loneliness, one warm thought at a time. I felt to loved, so cared for, by friends and virtual friends and strangers, it was transcendent. May you all feel as present and cared for as I have over my birthday weekend.

Though I had a few times I wished there was someone here to hold me and rub noses, it is OK.  I remembered that I can, in fact, treat myself well. It is important to know that I am still ME on my own, and furthermore, I CAN trust me, my ideas, my ability to thrive  in space I create.

Now…time to roll into bed. Hugh the Heffalump awaits and my bunny PJs are feeling just fine to me.