I woke up at 7AM on my birthday feeling relief. It was here and I felt no different for it, so hurrah!

I got up and started my third day of cleaning. My parents come, I clean.

They arrived in the middle of the afternoon and I was tired but excited. They brought wine and champagne and trays of hors d'oeuvres for happy hour. My parents are big happy hour people.

My brother arrived a few minutes later and within the hour, we set up the buffet of food and drink, I called a couple of friends in the neighborhood and we kicked off a happy hour.

My roommate brought out some wines that she brought back from Napa and somehow, we polished off 4 bottles of red and two bottles of champagne among 6 of us, with two of the group only having 2 glasses each. You do the math.

But the time we arrived at dinner in Tribeca, me and my family were drunk. Not so that an outsider would know, but I knew and I immediately hit the water.

So here we are, having a wonderful time at dinner. I am seated between my roommate and my Dad, speaking with my Dad, when my napkin feel off my lap. I turned to him and said "excuse me," and I learned toward my roommate to pick my napkin off the floor.

I remember sliding off my chair a bit to reach the napkin and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, watching my chair overturn, reaching out to steady it from crashing and drawing further attention. I think I somewhat cushioned the blow.

There I sat, legs together and straight out in front of me and in a matter of one second, I looked up and saw the faces of everyone at my table and the entire dining room. Nobody registered surprise. In fact, nobody even moved to help me up. It was bizarre.

As my eyes moved the circumference of the room, I felt the hands of a couple of waiters underneath my armpits and before it could even settle in that I had landed on the floor, I was righted back into my seat, like nothing happened and the maitre'd was whispering in my ear, "no one saw a thing."

What could I do, but laugh? I had yet again, made an ass out of myself. But it was my birthday and I have spent days agonizing over it and now it was here and all the people I love were here to celebrate it with me so I could either cry in my seat or laugh.

So I laughed.

And my Father, whom had been mid conversation with me, shook his head and asked, "Partygirl, what in hell just happened? One minute you were on your chair and the next you were on the floor and then a second later, you were back in your chair?!"

I said, "Dad, welcome to my life. You know how you ask me what's new and I always start off with 'you're never going to believe this one,' and you wonder how it happened? Well, now you are a testament to being a part of story and STILL not knowing how it happened."

I had serious green monkeys about this for two days. Forever and ever, my 29th birthday will be remembered as "the time Partygirl fell off her chair at dinner" and really, that's not how I want to be remembered.

Just like how Disneyworld is referred to the vacation that bored me to sleep, when I laid down in the line for rides and fell asleep. Or when I threw up in the Rose Garden at the White House.

Or how a few years ago I fell running down a flight of stairs in my apartment building on the morning of Halloween because I was so excited to go to work in my costume and I fractured my ankle.

Or the Christmas that I slid down our hardwood stairs at home in my rushed excitement to see what Santa brought.

Or the Superbowl when I spilled the crock pot of boiling corn chowder on my feet and ankles and suffered 2nd degree burns.

Or the time I was walking home from work two years ago and tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and skinned both my knees and my elbow and my palms.

Or the two separate occasions at two different workplaces post-college when I leaned back in my chair and fell over backwards in it.

It can't be normal for me. I think I should explore physical comedy.

So, after that, I tried to have fun but all I could think about was how I ruined the night for my family by falling off my chair and being a loser.

Later that night my brother was trashed and between throwing me around in a space we deemed a dancefloor and then tugging on skirts of strange girls, we had a reversal of roles.

Until I tripped down a step into Lucky's and fell into a young man with no teeth and a 6'2" black transvesite.

Today, I continued to beat myself up pretty good until one of my friends said, "Enough. If it were anyone else I would question it. But Partygirl, you fall out of chairs whether you are drinking or not. You fall down stairs stone sober. You walk into walls. That's part of who you are, so let it go."

It was my birthday. I fell out of my chair. I'm over it.

It's a new day.

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