Steph Not Stephanie

I did two pretty big things this weekend: I turned 33 and I introduced Bogart to quite a few of my friends while drinking about to celebrate turning 33. I’ve had a rocky relationship with both birthdays and introducing boys in the past; both cause a weird mixture of nerves and excitement.

With birthdays, I’ve ended the evening by oh-so-elegantly throwing up in an ice bucket (never again bottle service, never again), I’ve been relieved of my wallet, keys, and phone (I am sure they needed them more than I did), and I’ve done kickass karaoke renditions of Don’t Steph Believin’ that I had no recollection of (which my thoughtful friends captured on video). As for boys meeting friends, I’ve had the pleasure of explaining why they were hitting on my friends’ boyfriend or my roommate (‘He was just nervous’), or why they were glued to their phone and left at the earliest possible moment (‘He was just nervous’), or why they hadn’t kissed me yet (‘He was just nervous’), so I get understandably jittery with both events.

Past pratfalls notwithstanding, I am nothing if not persistent. Birthdays are going to keep coming and I don’t date in a bubble, so I figured I would kill two birds with one stone by combining the birthday/new dude meeting into a one-two punch of ohdearlordwhathaveIdone anxiety. Since I’m here to write this post, the good news is I clearly survived (spoiler alert).

One of the reasons I worry about the introduction in particular is how important my friends (and their opinions) are to me. They’ve seen me through some shit and I am incredibly lucky to have such an amazing group of people in my life. They can also be a bit … protective, which is understandable when they’re the ones scraping me off the floor when I’m screaming Adele at my cats in between spoonfuls of Ben and Jerry’s. They’re also so firmly on Team Steph that it can be a bit overwhelming how supportive they are. When I like someone, I want them to like them too. I want them to see the things that I see, but sometimes it’s their job to see the things I am willfully blind to. That’s what friends do. Knowing how fierce my own friends can be makes me even more aware that Bogart’s friends are following along (Hi Chef!). I know if I were seeing someone who wrote a blog, my friends would be gathered round with popcorn and wine, dissecting every fresh post. That being said, both the actual meeting and the post-event feedback were good. They mentioned my awkwardness and how entertaining that was for them (as per usual), but voiced their approval. Points for Bogart.

My birthday was also uneventful in the best way. I had dinner and drinks with amazing people the night before, and spent the actual day doing absofuckinglutely nothing (a rarity) but eating and watching Netflix (with friends, of course). I wasn’t even hung over, thanks to a combination of a proxy system put in place after the Great Ice Bucket Incident and a steady flow of gin and soda (I am so sorry, wine) I didn’t even wake up with a hangover. While I’m not exactly super into 33 just yet, I am writing this with wine and unicorn slippers, so there are worse ways to start a year.