- This is the first night in over 10 years that I've had two mai tais in one night. (Peruse the New York Bartender's Guide for the liver-crushing recipe. Or just look here.) Somehow (and fifty pounds later), I can handle them. But just barely.
- I had to improvise with blue curacao with one of them. So the drink turned out to be the color of fungified cement. Yum.
- I tell Quinn that she is SO hopelessly a fashion don't while she's wearing a kerchief with her matchy-match two-piece bikini while she's poolside with her friends. The only members of the Fashion Club.
- Yep. It's a olive drab and kelly green PLAID. Even I wouldn't be caught dead wearing such clashing patterns in the local man's man gay bar, even under low lights, even with drunk guys who wouldn't know better. Did I say gay men? Yeah. Not all of them are fashion mavens, but some of them wear fabulous scarves with their impeccable leather coats.
- Oh, and yeah...Quinn is a fucking CARTOON.
- I'm spewing advice to said cartoon.
- This cartoon, despite catering to college-age kids, stopped being relevant around, oh, 1997.
- Not a mathematician, but let's do the math here. SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO? Oh God...
- God, I'm old.
- I'm trying to persuade myself that my predecessors of decades and decades past regressed into their younger years to...well, for one night, to numb themselves into forgetting an annoying day. Despite the lack of said cartoons.
- La la LA la la...
It's apparently the year of 25 year anniversaries. Three days and twenty-five years ago began one of the most difficult days of my life. In just over a month and a half will commence the 25th anniversary of the most amazing day of my life.
Okay. I really should stop right now. Mark the time. And note the beverages consumed. Also note that it has been over ten years.
God, I'm pathetic right about now. Don't expect this post to last more than a week.
Okay. One more thing. GOD, right now I wish I knew who my birth parents were. Maybe one day.