Stop everything! It's Time For A Birthday Holla!

I admit, I have been remiss in posting on this blog. More importantly, I have been very remiss in posting a very belated birthday hollah that has been sitting in the Drafts section of my Outlook at work. So sad, all these posts waiting to happen, sitting in that pocket of my work e-mail. Ponderances over things like zebra stripes, New Jersey announcing a squirrel-eating advisory (oh boy), and more work rants, all lying in wait. Either they will one day come to fruition on this blog or I get fired.

Now...This Very Special Edition of Birthday Holla is for one of my oldest, closest partners in crime...J!

Whereeeee to begin?!? Well, let’s start with my first gift: A tiki idol to ward off the Brazilian Kumba Kumba curse that has plagued us since our teenaged days. That is the curse that has provided us with many hours of extreme immaturity, as we slap each other on the forehead and then start running away, screaming “KUMBA KUMBA KUMBA!”. The only way to remove the curse was to do it a second time again, hence one of us would be throwing ourselves around the legs of the other pleading, "Take it back! Take it baaahhhhaaaaack!"

That's right. Yell out "Kumba Kumba!" whenever J and I are in the room and I promise you - hilarity will ensue. Flash to the future where we're 90 years old with stumps for teeth and we're terrorizing the nursing home staffers with "Kumba Kumba!" while they're changing our Depends.

Wear the little guy close to your heart

We first learned about this curse from the wise person who was our manager when we had retail jobs at Merry-Go-Round in high school. Two teenaged girls...a bored store manager...in a mall with no customers...and Kumba Kumba was born.

And if you know what Merry-Go-Round was and its Mecca status in the ‘90s for Guidos and Guidettes, bonus points for you. So it’s only apt that I pass along a birthday wish from the crew over at Dance Party USA, a show taped in the Philly burbs with a few kids from Jersey (my peoples!!!) bussed in. My first experience watching this show that was in fact with J. See, she was actually a Guidette when we first met, but not like the Joisy Guidettes that are commonly associated with the title now. If there had been a Spice Girls for this local area phenomenon, J would have been Posh Guidette.

And I…well, I was a bit of a nerd. With Coke-bottle glasses and rugby shirts as my initial attire of choice, I could not believe it in high school when I befriended this peacock in pink flamingo boots. Then she introduced me to Dance Party USA. Had I known then what I know now, I would have realized the hours of bad television programming J would subject me to, most notably Cops. But I watched in rapture as the hosts Princess and Bobby introduced 80's freestyle song after 80's freestyle song, while dancers bopped around in their Z. Cavaricci pants, high top Reeboks, and lots and lots of hair gel.

After my first viewing ended, I turned to J, bowed my head, and proclaimed ever so solemnly, “J…make me a Guidette”.

The peeps at Dance Party USA know that you can take the girl out of Jersey, but...

Seriously, this show was so popular, you had bragging rights if you actually knew one of the dancers. So if I've made anyone so excited that they feel cheated out of an opportunity to find their inner Guido or Guidette, they can always sign this petition to make USA Networks bring the show back.

Next gift for J - a very special pair of cowboy boots to complement the Texas Two-Stepper that you are whenever you drag me to Red Rock Saloon, Hogs and Heifers, or any of the other white trash bars that you love for reasons I can't explain.

They are Gold. They are Studded. They are J.

And finally, I have retained Nobu Matsuhisa to be your personal chef for a whole month. Because there are not too many people I know besides C that are foodies to the core and willing to try everything and anything. From the English curries we make at home to turkey tazz to soup dumplings in the deeps of Chinatown to some really funky fish, you're not easily put off by the possibility that you will be nursing Pepto-Bismol for at least a week.

Except for certain types of sushi that follow you home in your bag - holy mackerel!

I did think of giving you a free pass to try out the restaurants all over the city and get into some really funky things, but who can turn down having Nobu at their beck and call three times a day to cater to your every whim?

"Explain to me this 'Dutch Oven'"

Happy belated Birthday Holla, girl! I look very much forward to toasting your birthday during a weekend of mirth and merriment!