Since I am stuck inside today because I got sun poisoning yesterday (plus, even though Marc doesn't believe me, the bottom of my feet are sunburned. He said they couldn't be because I was wearing boots all day, but that's not true! I switched into sandals and then sat in the passenger seat of the car going south on San Mateo with my ankle crossed over my knee for a long time ... omg, too many details, sorry ...) ANYWAY, I'm resting my poor withered skin from the sunlight by staying inside all day so I may as well post these oldies from Sophia's birthday.
They celebrated at Sushi Hana and we tagged along:
Can you imagine being 24 with 2 kids?! Can you imagine being any age with 2 kids?! I still remember when 9 seemed impossibly old...
Eating sushi in Albuquerque and going to a meathead bar with the grungy boys in one week. It felt like a daydream.
PLEASE CLICK BELOW IF YOU'D LIKE TO READ MORE :)
Who's idea was it to get two large bottles of Asahi, plum wine and warm sake? Funnily, no one complained.
Awwwww!
Meet my boyf, the investment banker with a share in the Hamptons.
The warm sake made our bellies even more grumbly.
When the sushi and sashimi were served, it took all of 10 minutes to finish it. We were that lovely combination of starving, tipsy, and comfortable enough around each other to eat like cavemen.
I would say the most interesting thing I ate was the chile relleno roll. It was just a chile relleno rolled into nori and sticky rice. The chef was very nice and came out to light Sophia's birthday cake. He looked shy which, for some reason, makes me think he's a brilliant sushi chef.
Karaoke after sushi, of course.
Marc gets suicidal around karaoke, but I talked him down from the ledge.
I'm still not sure why Marc hated karaoke in the first place ... beyond hate, hates with a passion. Like, if I decided to become a karaoke dj, he'd go mentally insane. So it's a little hard for me to enjoy myself singing an off-tune version of Creep while he's cutting his wrists open. Though, on that night I temporarily persuaded him to make it whatever he wanted. If he wanted it to be a terrifying display of human obliviousness then that's what it'll be. But if he wanted it to be a place where he can slobber a Dead Kennedys song at a bunch of idiots waiting in line to sing a Garth Brooks song, then make it carnage... really, make everyone uncomfortable and grossed out. Fuck them.
His expression was somewhere in between excited kid and asshole troublemaker when he turned in his Dead Kennedys request sheet. A few songs later, the moron dj made fun of the Dead Kennedys (!!) saying he'd never play that... omg, seriously? When are ten shit-kicking country songs greater than or equal to a punk one? I seriously hope that dj gets brain gonorrhea. Needless to write, Marc is back in angry disgust at karaoke. And so am I.
Group dancing. Shoot me. I so want to know why some groups of people flock to group dance and others sit around and talk about sea lion whiskers?
Sushi was great, karaoke was ok, except for the ball zit playing dj. I could have used another glass (i.e. bottle) of plum wine to overcome the hoards of assholes singing country songs, but c'est la vie, whatever, fuck it. It's not my birthday, I can't cry like I wanna...
The next weekend, for some reason lost to forgotten time, I tried to make a make-up tutorial in our bathroom while Jay and Marc drank piss beer and watched Illuminati documentaries. This is normal.
I was having skin problemos that week, so what?
... but then realized I didn't really have any specific insight for a make-up tutorial and why would anyone want to know how to go from made up girlfriend to trashy party girl in less than an hour AND AND I'm sort of full of pimples and stray eyebrow hairs, so what the eff was I even thinking? Oh wellsies, one day I'll look at these and wonder why my eyes are so red and veiny how I kept my skin fairly smooth into my mid-twenties :)
This is my ridiculous costume for going to the meathead bar, Lotus. BUT THERE ARE MEN DANCING IN THE WINDOW WITHOUT THEIR SHIRTS ON!!
A quick stop at Burt's for cheap brews and hellos to Lynette, our new bartender friend.
Such dolls.........
This was all free, in a monetary way. We won't be free of the memories of jock creeps grinding the bar stools where the strippers dancers in tiny bikinis were coked out and dancing to their own reflection ... yeesh, I'm putting myself to bed. I sound really crabby. Here's the rest of the night:
Basically, a couple incredibly dopey musicians followed us home and we played Apples to Apples and I woke up gagging on smoke and took a cab home. The next day my dress smelled like red bull, mustard and stupid.
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