Thirty-Four

One more year down without my dying, but I sure gave it the old college try last night. I hung out with a bunch of friends at the Crow Bar for a repeat of last year’s birthday. I’d said last year I wasn’t going to do that again — said it on the internets, as a matter of fact — but last Monday around 2 AM I decided I’d better do something to celebrate it.

Early reports say I had a good time last night, but I’m not the one to ask. I do remember what seemed like dozens of people asking me repeatedly if I needed another drink, and considering how much it hurts to type right now, I must’ve answered “yes” every time. Based on the contents of my pockets, I went to a restaurant that serves sugar — I have vague memories of lasagna (at least, I hope that was lasagna) and I hope that I paid for it or that someone paid for it on my behalf.

As much as I’m enjoying the Memento-like intrigue of this morning, standard apologies for anything inappropriate you believe I said or did and can convince me that I really did say or do it. And if for some reason you’re reading this and are just now hearing about it, because I was putting the invite together around 2 AM from an address book that hasn’t been synched up in 6 months and I neglected to invite you, then apologies go double.

Everyone who showed up: thanks loads for coming out! I had a blast, it was a great way to celebrate the birthday, and I really appreciate your coming. Everyone who didn’t show up or I forgot to invite: don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything.

Now I’m going to lie down and see how long it takes Advil to start working.

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