Sunday, May 21, 2006
You Say It's Your Birthday...
Last night Friend Amy had her 30th birthday party. It was a gala affair, held in the party room (read: basement) of a Wicker Park bar. There were beers from countries other than the United States and the possibility of both nachos and potato boats. And the waitress was someone I know but haven't spoken to in over a year, which is always delightfully awkward. It's definitely fun to get filled in on an acquaintance's various health scares and romantic woes between rounds of long islands. On the other hand, my married friends Addie and Paul were there, but already knew all of my many hilarious stories from reading the blog. I tried to explain that recycling material that isn't all that interesting in the first place is The American Way (I mean, Brokeback Mountain was really just Die Hard with cowboys and gay sex, for God's sake), but they didn't seem too convinced.
Another entertainment was that my friend Katie came with me and was already slightly drunk when I picked her up. (She had a prior engagement; we're not quite to the drinking alone stage yet.) This led to her being extremely outgoing and using the word "cunt" a lot. Oh, and deciding that she could only drink wine because she had to be classy. Pretty much my definition of a perfect date.
I honestly can't tell you how I'll be when I turn thirty. I mean, I stopped totally loving birthdays after my 23rd, when I was in my first year of law school and people were too busy stabbing me in the back and hiding the Con Law hornbooks to observe the occasion with anything more than a gift bag of M&Ms. But I've certainly never dreaded them, either, except for that time my parents forced me to invite Mark Reiss, who smelled bad and tried to break my Gobots, to my third grade roller skating party. I think as long as there's cake I'll be fine.
Last night Friend Amy had her 30th birthday party. It was a gala affair, held in the party room (read: basement) of a Wicker Park bar. There were beers from countries other than the United States and the possibility of both nachos and potato boats. And the waitress was someone I know but haven't spoken to in over a year, which is always delightfully awkward. It's definitely fun to get filled in on an acquaintance's various health scares and romantic woes between rounds of long islands. On the other hand, my married friends Addie and Paul were there, but already knew all of my many hilarious stories from reading the blog. I tried to explain that recycling material that isn't all that interesting in the first place is The American Way (I mean, Brokeback Mountain was really just Die Hard with cowboys and gay sex, for God's sake), but they didn't seem too convinced.
Another entertainment was that my friend Katie came with me and was already slightly drunk when I picked her up. (She had a prior engagement; we're not quite to the drinking alone stage yet.) This led to her being extremely outgoing and using the word "cunt" a lot. Oh, and deciding that she could only drink wine because she had to be classy. Pretty much my definition of a perfect date.
I honestly can't tell you how I'll be when I turn thirty. I mean, I stopped totally loving birthdays after my 23rd, when I was in my first year of law school and people were too busy stabbing me in the back and hiding the Con Law hornbooks to observe the occasion with anything more than a gift bag of M&Ms. But I've certainly never dreaded them, either, except for that time my parents forced me to invite Mark Reiss, who smelled bad and tried to break my Gobots, to my third grade roller skating party. I think as long as there's cake I'll be fine.
