Sunday, September 11, 2011

everybody's looking for something

"Happy birthday" confetti litters the floor and my ears are ringing like a thousand strippers just tried to shout sweet nothings into them. Yes, it's my birthday, terrorists be damned. On the radio this morning, when I was driving to Berkeley at the ungodly hour of 8:30 a.m., the DJ said that "this is not just about remembering, it's about not forgetting." Pardon me for laughing at your sentiment, DJ, but isn't that just a trifle ridiculous?

sssanyway, I awoke early this morning to go to the monthly Romance Writers of America meeting in Berkeley. The meeting was v. excellent; the speaker was a member of Scribd, an online file sharing site that is being used heavily for excerpts, and I'm dreaming of all the ways I can effectively utilize them. I also got to see my friend Grace, who hasn't been to a meeting in awhile, which was lovely -- we're going to get together for dinner in the next couple of weeks, and I'm v. much looking forward to that. Then I drove back to the city of sin, where I met up with Oniel, Kathryn, and Obaby (whose legal name is Cole, but really, who cares?) for a late brunch. I was v. v. honored that they brought their incredibly cute three-week-old baby into the evil city for a birthday brunch with yours truly; while catching up with Oniel and Kathryn would have been lovely regardless, the addition of their progeny was extra special.

Post brunch, I went to bevmo to stock up on ulcer-unfriendly libations, then came home and took a nap. Post-nap, I rallied and met Tammy (aka Tammmmmmmehhhhhhhh) and her boyfriend Daniel in the Tenderloin for some Vietnamese food; my Imperial Role was served with the surliest service ever, which I much appreciated. We had reservations at Bourbon and Branch shortly thereafter; it's a speakeasy, with a code word every night, and I can't imagine that they're breaking even given that they don't allow the place to fill to capacity. But, I had three v. delicious drinks in our allotted ninety minutes -- the 'hemingway daiquiri' with light rum, maraschino cherry liquor, grapefruit juice, and lime juice; and two of the 'citizen cane' with cachaca, etc. Tammy insisted on embarrassing me with a crown of sparkly pink and a lot of Happy Birthday confetti, which of course ended up in my bosom, and so I have been slowly shedding it all night.

Post Bourbon and Branch, I intended to come home, but instead I went to DNA Lounge with Tammy and Daniel for a few hours, where I saw Can (whose last name I will leave out for privacy purposes, even though Can sounds v. sad without its last name). We rang in my birthday in style, grabbed some pizza by the slice next door, and then I insisted on leaving as befits my age. To be fair to myself, I'm not 30 for another five hours (my birth time was 8:11am CDT, which is 6:11am here; I always did find it fascinating that in my birth date and time there are only 3 integers total: 1, 8 and 9 (8:11 on 9/11/81)). But I'm going to go to bed like the old person I really am, knowing that I will not recover from three cocktails, a redbull+vodka, and 1.5 tequila shots easily. Sigh. Anyway, happy birthday-slash-national day of mourning to me -- goodnight!

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