I am going home to Indiana today to celebrate my thirtieth birthday,

which is Sunday. Because I'm leaving work early, I needed to work extra to hit my 40 hours. Because work dinners count as hours, I decided to leave work at the regular time yesterday and go to the dinner planned for our sales reps. Usually, I skip these.

Now, I haven't worked at a company that actually has money for a long time. I've certainly never been in a position to go out to a shmancy restaurant, eat and drink well and get paid for it. My last job was at a very poor nonprofit. My other job was nannying two little boys. My job before that was a receptionist. You get the idea.

Can I just tell you that for about 15 people, we ran up a tab that was the same amount of money that I lived on for an entire semester. It's approximately enough cash to feed all the starving children in China, AND fund research to learn to make fuel out of corn cobs. I was astounded. People ordered so many shots of Patrone that eventually, when one young woman nearly slid out of her chair like a wet noodle, the waiter cut us off. I was even more astounded when one of my co-workers, the leader of the whole young, flash, hammer-fied group, tried to kiss me in front of everyone, and when I dodged him, he accidentally licked my face.*

I don't know if this is common protocol or not. Maybe it was a particularly crazy night. If I ever, ever tell you I'm dating either a sales rep or a surgeon, you have my permission--rather, you are required--to come to my house and perform a lobotomy. Not that they're ALL bad, but I'd certainly consider it a high-risk endeavor.

Now, I have to roll out of bed and go into the office, and I really, really don't want to.

*Lucky for him, I know he's a very respectful guy who was having a rare, dipshit moment.