Signs that the party went well, or Random Bullets of Party:

  • Gospel Bob woke up wearing Iron Buttercup’s shirt.
  • When I finally decided it was time to sleep–though guests were still up and about–it was not late. It was not even very, very early. It was fully daylight.
  • The local folks here are not like the San Francisco folks. The locals here are a little afraid of kissing. Nonetheless, I made out with no less than five people. Persistence pays.
  • A halfhearted, drunken, 5 am kiss with Bad Idea on the porch, waiting for his cab, is still better than a lot of sober kissing I’ve done.
  • Kissing the Squirrel: as awkward as expected. And not just because I had to pry the SoapStar off him to do it. The Squirrel tells me that we will never have sex, but now I can’t remember why. It may be for the best.
  • I might have kissed the SoapStar. I’m not entirely sure.
  • I cracked the seal on that bottle of Sauza at 8 pm. It’s sitting on top of the dryer in the basement, empty. I remember pouring rounds of seven shots at a time, many, many times.
  • Either the mold in the basement is not actually toxic, or the antidote to toxic mold is bumper pool and Night Ranger. Seriously. Mold is no match for that.
  • It’s taken me 20 minutes to type this, because I appear to be suddenly dyslexic.

More later, maybe. In the meantime, I leave you with this shot of the birthday girl, IB herself, perusing the beverage options early in the evening–yes, it looks excessive, but the party still had eight hours to go at this point. Happy birthday, IB!

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