I think it's safe to say the birthday weekend was a success. In addition to a huge feast and night of drinking on Friday for my birthday, last night was Bonnie's 30th extravaganza in the private room of the Rosewood Bar. Everyone came out, including Bonnie's family from Longbeach, her friends from all over the place, and the boys from Chico.
As I was standing talking to Jason, he suddenly says, "I would be paying attention to everything you're saying but I can't help staring at what's going on behind you."
I turn around, and some trampy, disgusting, stripper-esque, mildly retarded woman is straddling Mike and for all intensive purposes, giving him a lap dance while engaging in small talk. Apparently, he met her outside and invited her into our party, escorting her past Harold, our personal bouncer. They found a trendy leather couch in the corner and put on a show. It went on for an eternity, as if it were the paid entertainment. Michael, quite possibly one of the more adorable people ever, was finally cock-blocked by Bonnie and the tramp was apparently escorted from the room.
"She was a horrible kisser!" Mike screamed as I came over to ridicule him. "Ewwwww. Get her out of here. Seriously. She's so disgusting. I couldn't get rid of her."
The story is fabulous enough at this point, but gets better when she reappears, brought back in by Bonnie's 21 year old brother, Jimmy. How did Jimmy meet her? They chatted in the bathroom line and she invited him to join her in the stall.
She must have been dreadful, because even Jimmy rapidly lost interest, and it was clear she was being mocked in every conversation. She soon disappeared.
Mike, who was complaining about never getting mentioned on the blog, certainly stepped up to the plate. Thanks Mike. Good luck getting the stripper juice off your suit.
At some point, I decided it would be a good idea to dance on the tables to Guns and Roses. And Itty, Mike, and Alex got busted for peeing in the zen garden. We ended the night with Alex, Itty, Mike, Ben, Kim, and I leaving the party and singing Scissor Sisters at the top of our lungs through the streets of San Francisco, my block in particular. We awoke this morning to a purple Post-it on Alex's car reading "Asshole."
That called for Bloody Mary's at brunch, so we piled in the car and went to Haight Street where Joe met us. As the seven of us sat down to eat, Joe immediately had to go outside for a cigarette and insisted that I join him. Not 10 seconds behind him, I found him out on the sidewalk in a screaming match with a hobo. They exchanged words for like, 5 minutes. The best part is how seriously Joe takes it. When Joe screamed back at the bum, Joe said the bum gave him a look as if to say, "Wait a second. Aren't I supposed to be the crazy one?"