Posted by: rocketbride | August 9, 2011

a big year

Happy birthday to me! As of midnight, I have officially become a woman who needs to buy a “Pregnancy After 35” book. But…I won’t. So there.

Today I slept late, was taken out for birthday waffles by my sweetie, was wished well by Sage via telephone, and indulged in a two-hour nap. Now I get to laze around in my house, doing what I please and waiting for my far-travelling child to return from Tampa to my humid embrace. Sweet.

Last night Mason took me out for birthday dancing at the Dance Cave, after an evening that was a definite improvement on last year’s suck-a-thon. We left the house early, so we could do some fun things/kill time before club o’clock, and started off at the Queen Mother for green curry. (Om nom nom nom.) It was probably the fastest I’ve ever eaten at the QM, but it wasn’t much of a strain to shovel down that creamy curry as if fixing it to burn behind me. We were late, you see, and we still had four blocks to walk before we could experience the magic of “El Bulli,” a documentary about developing the 2008-2009 menu for the molecular gastronomy restaurant in Spain. Newspaper reviewers had warned us that it was slow, which it was (especially the last half hour), but it was still a fascinating look into the minds of these avant-garde chefs and the pressures they put themselves under to produce the food. The weirdest thing about seeing the movie was that, unlike with most food movies, you don’t leave the theatre hungry; you have no earthly idea what anything you just saw tastes like, so there’s no desire to experience it. Well, maybe the mint ice lake, or the ice and tangerines in oil.

Then we went down the street to a new restaurant Mason had picked out: Wvrst, a clean and efficient urban beerhall that was populated by groups of young and pretty alternated with small packs of nervous baby boomers. We weren’t sure which description fit us, what with the knitting on one hand and the ironic t-shirt/1″ buttons on the other. (Who am I kidding: no boomer trying to look young would be caught dead knitting in public. We were strictly in the hipster camp.) Mason had a boar sausage and we split Belgian fries with dipping sauce. Greasy!

We got to the Dance Cave shortly after opening, just in time to meet Stacy and steal a big booth for the whole night. Shannon came over to make a fuss about my belly (no prophetic kicking last night, although I discovered at Hillside that the baby likes didgeridoo. Huh?) It was a typically fun night at the Cave, full of retro standards and amusing dancing, and only marred slightly by my almost constant need to go to the bathroom and the occasional Braxton-Hicks cramp that lasted through multiple songs. We all lasted until 1 a.m., which is a big deal for us oldsters, and how can you really be less than delighted with a night that includes a chance to overact in dance (“Charlotte Sometimes”), my mixed-gender all-ages bouquet toss theme (“Groove is in the Heart”) and my national anthem/first song I ever inflict on my babies once they have the ability to perceive sound (“Sex Dwarf”)? It was awesome.

It occurs to me that I haven’t done a birthday photo post in awhile, and research shows that I haven’t done once since before Blake was more than a sparkle on the horizon. So…without further ado, Rocketbride becomes Rocketmom becomes Rocketsingle becomes Rocketbride II: Return of the Rocketbaby. (That last one is me, now.)

The year I turned 27 I was pregnant with the baby to be known as Blake. My mom baked me a Chippendale cake, and Dirk and Tym:J threw a party. A tiara was worn, the cake was carved on anatomical grounds, and fun was had.

Blake was baptized the day before I turned 28, so this year’s photo is of Scherezade, me, my seersuckered child and the Boy. Within moments of the service ending, Blake was in swim trunks and we were carving up a cake in the shape of a fish.


The year I turned 29, I decided to be minimalist about both my hair and outfit. Short hair, short skirt, short kid, Cadillac…or something like that.

When I turned thirty I decided that only the plaster swans of Centre Island could make leaving my twenties better. So I took the Boy, the Blake, & my mom and had a beautiful day.


When I turned 31, I had just moved out of my parents’ house and was still giddy about it. Mason & Katherine made appearances at Los Iguanas, Stacy baked me cupcakes and Jim was the only one who could last out “Rock Lobster” at the inevitable Dance Cave.


My 32nd birthday marked the end of tolerating the Victory Café’s total lack of service. I look like I want to be hiding coquettishly in the bushes, but it’s because we couldn’t get a table with enough seats. This is also the first birthday with Mason as my boyfriend: yay for Mason!


Remember that year, when I didn’t really have blue hair on my birthday but I pretended to anyway? Well, when I turned 33, I was fresh from Teija’s wedding, for which I had dyed my hair blue. I spent this birthday at WorldCon, chasing Blake and having a good time with the other convention-nerds. This would be the first of many birthdays in Montreal.

august 09

We returned to Montreal for vacation just before I turned 34, which would be the last of the good times for several weeks. I started a 365 project, which means that it wasn’t at all hard to find this year’s picture. This is me, vastly disappointed but surviving.

This year…well, you know. Just married, pregnant, radiantly happy. And in the Dance Cave, once again. It’s too late to hunt down the camera and show you a picture, so I’ll follow established birthday photo post tradition and put you off until next time.


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