From snowballs to softballs

Last Friday, when Hubby and I attended a gig for that local band I’m fond of, I spotted someone who maybe sort of looked familiar.

“Do you see that man over there in the white jacket?” I asked Hubby. “Is that the guy I had the snowball fight with?”

Hubby wasn’t sure, but he knew who I meant. For my birthday two years ago, I booked the band at a brewery where I was friends with the bartender. I had gotten permission from him to bring 150 fake snowballs. One man in attendance that night was particularly into the ensuing fight, especially when it came to throwing snowballs at me.

The crazy dude on the left. On the right is the woman who kindly took it in stride when I accidentally hit her several times while aiming at my chief adversary next to her. Crazy chic in the center: me.

“Should I ask if it’s him?” I said to Hubby.

“If you want,” he said, not nearly as perplexed by this mystery as I was.

But how to broach the subject with this possible total stranger? “Did I have an epic snowball battle with you nearly two years ago?” Or perhaps I would start slower: “Have you heard this band play before? Do you remember a time they played and there was a snowball fight?”

Without fully figuring out my approach, but curiosity getting the better of me, I announced, “I’m going to go find out.”

My Birthday Part 2: What Actually Happened

One great thing from last year’s birthday that I WAS able to preserve this year was having brunch with two of my besties, including Neighbor. I checked off a minor bucket list item of finally trying an açaí bowl. It did not disappoint.

Tasty little super food, with some other yummy foods to boot, on a beautiful wooden table.

And, Neighbor got me two of my favorite guilty pleasures:

Chex Mix, OF COURSE, and also Rockstars, which I occasionally partake of when I have a martial arts class and about zero energy to make it through. (Don’t judge.) At any rate, I love how she gets me.

That evening, since my Grand Band Plan didn’t work out, I invited friends to hang out at a restaurant. Here’s the good, the bad, and the ugly (not in that order):

I opened the restaurant door on my foot, thus cutting my toe. I’ll spare you yet another foot injury pic. It didn’t bleed or hurt much, so whatever, but it wasn’t a terrific start to the night.

To the 20-something waitress who showed us to our table, I said, “I like your nose ring. I thought about getting one too, [note to readers: not seriously. Just making conversation.] but I do Jiu-Jitsu, so I’d have to take it in and out before and after each class.”

“Oh, yeah, and they close up so quickly,” she said. “That’s awesome you do Jiu-Jitsu. So did my mom.”

And just like that, I go from relating to a 20-something to being compared to her mom, which, to be fair, is more accurate.

We were given two outdoor tables: numbers 9 and 10, which I thought appropriate, since my birthday was 9/10. 🙂

Our time at the restaurant was pleasant, and the weather was unnoticeable, which is to say, it was perfect. I was surprised that many friends gave me cards. Here are a couple (slideshow) from a fellow pun-lover and a friend who also appreciates the joy of randomness: