Some readers of this blog have pointed out that all I do is drink and party with my gorgeous friends in fur coats, various sparkly dresses and boobalicious dresses. Those haters had better steer clear of this post, then, because this is a post about CHARLOTTE’S 25TH BIRTHDAY! And if you’re not wearing sparkles and fur and showing as much cleavage as possible, you were uninvited. That’s just how it had to be.
To start the night off in approved Charlotte fashion, the birthday girl gathered three of her nearest and dearest and hustled them out the door for pre-drinking mojitos and pizza. I can’t tell you where we went, though. Don’t want you chuckleheads blowin’ it up so we can’t ever get a table.
Oh oh oh. I have to tell you a really funny story. The four of us walked into the bar all wearing fur in one form or another–coats, collars, stoles, you get the idea. As we’re walking to our table, a random dude looks up at us and then says “Look, the Anti-Cruelty Society is here.” OH, HOW WE LAUGHED.
Blowing out her birthday “candle.” I burned my thumb on the lighter.
Like I said, there were three people scarfing down the pizza and sucking down mojitos…
And of course, you have the birthday girl and yours truly. This face that we’re making actually has a name: it’s called “the broken robot face” and there’s a full story behind it. I’ll tell it another time.
This picture is only notable because Char yelled “GRAB A PROP!” right before she took it, and so I grabbed a candle. The glass was hot, and so I burned my fingers for the second time in half an hour.
Anyway. Once we’d eaten and made headway on our plan of getting birthday drunk, we headed over to Exchange for the party proper.
Char’s quarter-century was such a big deal that she had a drink named after her: Charlotte Cider. It was deliciously potent.
The man responsible for the cider was Charles, bartender and awesome dude extraordinaire. But…um, I’m not sure he and Char have mastered phones yet.
Sometimes, people call us intimidating. I’ve never really understood it, but pictures like this–pictures where our bitchfaces are on full display–well, they help me connect the dots.
Shots of Chartreuse. Now, I know that I have exaggerated things once or twice for dramatic effect, but I SPEAK THE TRUTH when I say that this was the most revolting thing I have ever put in my mouth. I mean, look at the colour. If that’s not a warning, I don’t know what is.
We’re all colour coordinated in gold, black and white with red lips. It’s like we planned this or something. (Only kidding. We just have amazing taste.)
Lest I not mention that everyone’s favourite Gestapo Dad was DJing! HI GREG! Char tried to take a picture of him making a funny face…
And I photobombed it. Way to go, self. Nice tonsils.
Then Greg started playing really awesome music (like Katy Perry). And shit started getting really drunk.
And then Igor decided that he wasn’t getting enough attention…
Igor is Lorelei’s stole, and he got his name because one of his eyes is chipped.
He’s kind of cute, and scary, all at the same time.
Igor also found his way into Daniel’s heart, because who could resist a taxidermied fashion accessory like him?
We fucking smiled our heads off…
Alex and I showed off our matching hairstyles.
And before we knew it, we were full-on birthday drunk.
Then this happened.
A couple of times, apparently.
Meanwhile, Char and Mili were straight thuggin’ over at the bar.
And I was psyched that Greg and I were ALMOST the same height. Greg is one of the tallest people that I know; I don’t even come up to his shoulder usually, and I’m 5’10. With the aid of my giant pink heels, I could at least stare at his chin as I drunkenly slurred my goodbyes. While I was doing that, Lorelei and Charlotte were making plans to get our names tattooed on one another. Luckily those plans fell though; we all woke up feeling bad enough without new tattoos to worry about in addition.
And OH GOD, DID WE FEEL HORRIBLE. But we earned those hangovers! And it was worth the pain!
The next day, Char and I dragged our hungover carcasses to the burbs for family dinner, which was fantastic. Probably the best moment was Char, Al and I bursting into song out of nowhere. “Dayman! AH-AHHH-AHH! Fighter of the Nightman!” At a restaurant. While people gave us funny looks. Whatevs, yo. Not our fault if you don’t watch It’s Always Sunny.
Later, we oscillated wildly between going out for a second night or staying in and watching silly movies. Our livers screamed NO NO NO NOT AGAIN OR I WILL QUIT THIS BITCH so loudly that nobody could even get though a glass of wine with dinner. Eventually we decided to hit the barz again, and it was STRAIGHT DIET COKE and SHOTS OF WATER all night long. Rebellious!
It just wouldn’t be a party if we didn’t end up at Flatiron for at least a little while. Also, I do not know why we make faces in every single photo. We have been studied by scientists and they don’t know why, either. Anyway, here we are with Zapo, who was very chivalrously fetching us water all night. He’s a hero like that.
The night ended the way all birthdays should end: at a diner, eating food that is bad for us.
Wondertwin and Wondersundae. Also pictured: about 1% of the food we stuffed into our bellies. Then we piled into a cab and headed home to pass out, happy and (thankfully) sober.
The next morning, though, I forgot about the alarm…
One of Char’s pomeranians, Ewok, came in and woke me up at half past nine by making herself comfortable on my neck. Most adorable alarm clock ever!
And that’s the way the birthday cookie crumbled. Happy birthday again, Charlotte! I LOVES YOU!
And of course…