…well it’s my birthday, too, yeah.
Okay, not terribly original, but I’m older and wiped out from my bday bash last night. Sue me. Said birthday was actually Thursday the 11th, but Saturday is more conducive to party throwing, so last night it was. The bash was more fun than a barrel of monkeys. And a lot less clean-up. Since it was the big 4-0, my pals did a little roast in my honor. Be afraid. Be very afraid. All I have to say to you people is: Don’t ever write anything down. There are freaky people out there, often your friends, who HOLD ON TO THIS SHIT and use it to publicly embarrass you later. But since I never tire of public humiliation, here’s a recap of the highlights:
Laura Poe reminded me of the time I was waiting tables in Austin and got stuck with a table full of Bush-worthy Texas frat rats who were giving me a hard time. She reminded me that before giving them their “fajita fixin’s”, I personally licked each and every tortilla once. People, I have a serious karma debt to work off there.
My friend Pam gave me a “Kiss My Astro” t-shirt. I will never take it off. I will wear it to future business meetings under a blazer while smiling my southern debutante smile. Arrested Development R Us.
College bud Laura Chapin drove up from D.C. to surprise me. It worked.
Dana Robie, friend since jr. high, still had an obituary I’d written for myself at 24 when I was stuck in Denton for a few months. Cause of death was acute boredom. I think it had something to do with the pictorial layout. The Madonna years were big with me, apparently. Horizontal stripes, ankle boots, and earrings large enough for small dogs to jump through. Look away, people. Nothing to see here. Let’s keep moving.
Holly and Theo Black gave me an authentic creepy-cool Victorian hair ornament pin. Sidebar: The Victorians used to cut off the hair of dead loved ones and turn it into wearable art. They were a fun, fun, fun group of people, those wacky Victorians! Par-tay with that dead-people jewelry. Rock on.
My best bud, Eleanor, put together a reel of pictures from our teen years to today. Yes, the Cheap Trick years. Yes, the big hair-and-jewelry years. Yes, the glasses-even-Elton John-would-be-freaked-out-by years. Yes, the I’m-fat-with-a-puka shell-necklace-and-a-pet rock-collection-and-even-though-I’m-smiling-a-group-of-sadistic- sixth graders-has-just-stolen-my-pet rocks-because-I’m-abnormally-attached-to-them-in-a-sort-of-loner/future horror movie-star-way (please see: “Willard,” “Carrie,” “Christine” etc.) and-it’s-all-made-me-cry-like-the-freak-I- am (“Rainbow! Charlie! Boulder Bright! Where are you?!!!”) and-that’s-why-my-eyes-are-puffy-in-this-picture years. What I learned from viewing this reel is that A) I’m glad to have survived to forty B) I love my friends madly and C) I will never, ever do a home perm ever again. The horror, the horror…
Mark Flores, Ed Roland, Rifat Yalman, and, um, well, everyone else present claimed that there is nothing I can’t turn into some kind of primitive, sick, rude, bottom-basement bathroom humor. Which is not true…oh, wait. I said bottom in that last sentence. Dude, did you catch that? That just sort of slipped out. Oh! I said “slipped out.” Get it? Huh? Get it?
Mel and Susanna and Laurie and E.J. wrote things that made me misty.
My friend Pat reminded me of this scene that took place about ten years ago in a bar in NYC:
Drunken, Obnoxious Lothario: So, what brought you to New York?
Me: The Lord.
There were cupcakes and gifty-thingies in tissue paper (anything in tissue paper makes me maniacally happy) and good music on the Ipod. There were people I am lucky to know laughing and noshing in my living room.
I am drunk with contentment.
Today we dance. Tomorrow, we go back to the hell that is writing a sequel.
IN OTHER NEWS…I have my first booksigning Wednesday, March 24th. For those of you in the tri-state area, here’s the info:
Lib’s booksigning for A GREAT AND TERRIBLE BEAUTY
Wednesday, March 24th, 7:30 p.m.
Barnes & Noble
267 7th Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11215 (in Park Slope)
Come on down and heckle me.