I’ve been having birthdays for 26 years now, and my plan is to keep them going for another 75 or so.
Seriously, though, let’s take a trip down memory lane, and see what we find.
Twenty-five: After recently getting broken up with, my plans for a fancy pantsy cocktail party go down the drain. Instead, the girls and I go to West Hollywood on the rainy night that is my birthday to watch men in underpants dance around.
Twenty-four: I wanted to have a dance party. What really wound up happening was just a party at my apartment with loud music. Luckily, my best friend and another friend bought me this cool glow in the dark wall thing that we wound up fooling around with.
Twenty-three: I was in Paris for this birthday and got to go to Euro Disney, and then to a lovely dinner.
Twenty-two: Dinner with a group of close to twenty at Paco’s Tacos, my fav restaurant, and then to Irish Times to drunkenly throw darts at the wall.
Twenty-one: Saw Dane Cook at the Laugh Factory, then when it became my actual birthday at midnight, went to bars on the Sunset Strip. Barfed in bathroom (many a time) at Bossa Nova.
Twenty: Went to Groundlings show in LA. Then went to Astro Burger. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Nineteen: Went to McDonalds . . . and then something else. Shoot, I’ll have to ask the people that were there and get back to you. It was the last year I went to Angel Island, though (which is now on fire).
Eighteen: At college, not a lot of celebrating, but went to Angel Island with family and friends.
Seventeen and sixteen: Angel Island.
Fifteen: Party at my house. I’m pretty sure that’s what I did for all previous birthdays to this also.
Last Sunday, which was my birthday I made the girls drive me to Bahooka, an amazing Tiki restaurant in Rosemead, where there turned out to be fish, so many fish! One hundred and ten tanks! I can’t believe my luck at finding a place that was teeming with so many of my favorite creatures! I had four Tiki drinks, but somehow I didn’t get totally trashed, leading me to wonder about my current tolerance. This Saturday, we’re going to The Arsenal, a bar nearby. I plan on wearing a mini-skirt and being adored.
Seriously, though, let’s take a trip down memory lane, and see what we find.
Twenty-five: After recently getting broken up with, my plans for a fancy pantsy cocktail party go down the drain. Instead, the girls and I go to West Hollywood on the rainy night that is my birthday to watch men in underpants dance around.
Twenty-four: I wanted to have a dance party. What really wound up happening was just a party at my apartment with loud music. Luckily, my best friend and another friend bought me this cool glow in the dark wall thing that we wound up fooling around with.
Twenty-three: I was in Paris for this birthday and got to go to Euro Disney, and then to a lovely dinner.
Twenty-two: Dinner with a group of close to twenty at Paco’s Tacos, my fav restaurant, and then to Irish Times to drunkenly throw darts at the wall.
Twenty-one: Saw Dane Cook at the Laugh Factory, then when it became my actual birthday at midnight, went to bars on the Sunset Strip. Barfed in bathroom (many a time) at Bossa Nova.
Twenty: Went to Groundlings show in LA. Then went to Astro Burger. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Nineteen: Went to McDonalds . . . and then something else. Shoot, I’ll have to ask the people that were there and get back to you. It was the last year I went to Angel Island, though (which is now on fire).
Eighteen: At college, not a lot of celebrating, but went to Angel Island with family and friends.
Seventeen and sixteen: Angel Island.
Fifteen: Party at my house. I’m pretty sure that’s what I did for all previous birthdays to this also.
Last Sunday, which was my birthday I made the girls drive me to Bahooka, an amazing Tiki restaurant in Rosemead, where there turned out to be fish, so many fish! One hundred and ten tanks! I can’t believe my luck at finding a place that was teeming with so many of my favorite creatures! I had four Tiki drinks, but somehow I didn’t get totally trashed, leading me to wonder about my current tolerance. This Saturday, we’re going to The Arsenal, a bar nearby. I plan on wearing a mini-skirt and being adored.
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