Birthday barf

Yesterday was Roommate J's birthday, but he insisted that we celebrate on Saturday night by drinking tons, dressing like the '80s and acting foolish at a bar.

In my advancing age, I'm starting to feel the after-effects of alcohol in a strong and dissatisfying way, but I threw caution to the wind and slurped down a few cocktails before heading over to the Roommates' home. Puppy and I brought Kara's Cupcakes and watched Kristin Chenoweth videos on their computer while Lezzies N&P helped them get their faces on.

By the time we were ready to head to the bar, Puppy was dunzo and cabbed it home. The rest of us, however, endured the curious stares of Haight hipsters as we walked the several blocks' journey. Acid wash denim and neon colors, it seems, are atypical garb for Saturday night shenanigans in this part of the city.

Once at the bar, we fell into the groove with Dyson and his roommate, Gar Gar and his lovah and a crowd of other familiar faces. I caught up with Shoulder Pads, who was already silly drunk from a day of drinking. As we talked, he started drooling on the floor by the bar and I took this as my cue to end the conversation. Well, I'm glad I did because soon after, one of the barbacks was cleaning up vomit and bleaching down the vicinity.

For the rest of the night, the fragrant aroma of Clorox wafted through the club, but no one seemed very perturbed by it and continued merry-making until well past my bedtime.

I think Roommate J had a good birthday. Well, I hope he had a good birthday because I certainly paid for it yesterday. A day where I sat on the couch, ate platefuls of lasagna and guzzled gallons of water.