Like that picture? Photo Lush made it, of course. She's such a great sister (she also buys me coffee sometimes and I would like that trend to continue, so I had better give her credit for her work)

My birthday was several shades of awesome thanks to how insanely popular I am. Okay, and because of my husband.

Geekster decided that since he couldn't buy me the rich person camera I wanted on account of not being rich enough, he would instead throw me a barbecue with meat and meat-related products (very thoughtful, coming from a vegetarian).

He created a Crackbook event and invited a few people. Then a few more were invited because, hey, not everyone is going to come, right? Probably half the people, so it's best to extend the invitation far and wide. Besides, it was the end of a long weekend and the last day of summer vacation for many people. School would resume the following day for many a crumb snatcher, so surely there would be a lot of 'no' RSVPs.

And that would have been fine, because small parties are great. I didn't want a big bash for my thirty-second year of life, anyway. Small, quiet, peaceful and gift-less (minus, perhaps, a camera). And this has nothing to do with what happened to me in school. Nope, not a bit.

Maybe a little bit.

There are different levels of popularity. Most people float through life with a 'I was in gym class with him/her' popularity. There are a handful who get beyond that, to 'He/she seems to be at every party and has pretty hair.' Those are the lucky people. I envy you.

In school, I was always below even the level of comfortable mediocrity. Normally I stayed squarely between ' Does she even go to this school?' and ' Eww, zits!' I thought that was bad enough, until grade 8, when I shouldered the brunt of all loser-related jokes in a school of 1200 students and was shoved, quite unexpectedly, into 'Let's light her on fire with some hairspray and a match!'

I mean literally. Thank goodness for stop, drop and roll.

Don't feel too badly for me. I don't. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, every cloud has a silver lining, and all that other crap people tell you when your life sucks.

Yes, I learned some very important lessons through my years of ridicule, punched eyes and singed arm hair. Things I would have never learned if I had been the homecoming queen of Perfectville, USA.

I learned that public school is an evil place full of jerks. I learned not to trust anyone who can light a match. I learned I would eventually turn into an obsessive parent who fears even the thought of her children being picked on in the big, bad school system. But, most importantly, I learned to be insecure.

See what hardship can do? It can really help a person grow.

I eventually drank my way into rehab and found some confidence with which to whip the emotional asses of my former tormentors. Heck, I even have some of them as Facebook friends because I'm a strong woman who likes to show she's above all that old, petty stuff (never you mind that I'm writing about it right now). However, those scars still show many years later, and my heart about dropped into my bowels when Geekster started inviting people to a party just for me.

As the guest list grew, so did my anxiety. Nobody's going to come, I thought to myself. I prepared the rejection speech in my head:

Oh, that's fine. No problem at all! I know it's a long weekend and it's the day before school for a lot of the kids and you probably have to work tomorrow. It's just a silly little birthday party, anyway.

Because while I'm The Maven and a would-be internet sensation if I could only write more than twice per week, I'm a nobody in real life and I know it.

A total and complete nobody.

We had 38 people in our backyard on Monday afternoon. Only a handful didn't come and I didn't have to give them my rejection speech because I felt, well, not rejected. The turnout was so great that I couldn't help but be amazed.

I suddenly catapulted in popularity from ' She helps me with my algebra so I let her go shopping with me' popular to 'She, like, plays a supporting yet totally important role on the cheerleader squad!'

Hot damn.

Oh, sure, there were some drawbacks to having that many people over to celebrate the day of my birth. Sitting down for more than 23 seconds was out of the question. I had to share my presence with others in small doses, which I'm certain was a disappointment to those who traveled from as far as 30 minutes away to see me (I wouldn't let Geekster invite people even further out because I was afraid they would say no due to gas prices and I might go throw rocks at an Esso sign with tears in my eyes). I had to share the cupcakes my sister made in my honour with so many guests that I tragically never got a second one. Nor did I have time to make coffee for the hordes of people who left in a mass exodus at 7:30PM, either, which means I was deprived of my much-beloved caffeine.

Being popular is very tiring work. I pity those of you who have to be like that all the time.

I did, however, make it to Fourbucks after all was said and done, complete with gift cards. Do people know me well or what?

I have to preface this part of the story by mentioning that A) I am not a regular at Fourbucks lately due to it being, well, four bucks, and B) I was already on a massive ego high from much Maven worship in the afternoon.

Still, the surprises were not over yet. The barista treated me to a free latte and free cake, nicely decorated with whipped cream, chocolate syrup and half a straw with a dollop of whipped cream on the top to simulate a birthday candle.

If an ego inflates in a coffee shop, does anyone around suffocate?

I'd love to sing the praises of karma and how all the good I do in the world has come back to me on my 32nd birthday. I would love to sit here, smug and pretentious yet acting incredibly humbled, all while being a shining example of positivity attracting more positivity.

I would love to, except Paris Hilton has better birthday parties than I do, and she's prettier, and more popular and a even a little bit wealthier, and I don't see how she fits into my theories.

Yet, it's still great to be The Maven (and later that night it was really great being Geekster, too, if you know what I mean - don't read that part, mom).