The older I get, the more I see birthdays as an excuse to get ridiculously drunk and partake in activities I may or may not regret the next morning and less as a reason to celebrate the day I popped on out into the world. Being 22? Not so cool. Being in a insanely seedy strip club with everyone I love and acting a fool and realizing it's ok because it's my birthday? Very cool. All I know is weekends like this one make me so unbelievably happy I woke up and realized committing to that religion known as straight edge for two years was utterly ridiculous.
I kicked the weekend off with a much needed hair cut at the Aveda Institute - the only place I will get my hair cut. If you have short hair, ask for Kim Adams. She is amazing, and I won't let anyone besides her touch my head for fear of looking like a boy with a bowl cut; believe me, it's happened. Afterwards, I ran over to Camera Doctor to pick up the roll I had shot with the Holga in Oxford / Oakland - very pleased with the way they turned out. I bought some more black and white 120 film, so hopefully I can go shoot sometime this week. Scooted on over to Ink & Dagger to talk to Jason Kelly about my tattoo - next Wednesday, my right wrist will no longer be naked. Again, sorry Mom. Capped the night off with dinner & drinks at Cheeseburger in Paradise with Danielle and some pretty amazingly hilarious people from her travel agency job. Unfortunately for me, at the risk of getting graphic, I ended up seeing everything I ate once again, and it wasn't the two weak, mostly-mix margaritas I had. Definitely will not be getting the island quesadilla again. Uh uh, no thanks. I probably sounded bulimic. Great.
Saturday night - oh, the debauchery. We began the night with dinner at El Azteca; stuffed my belly with taco salad and delicious margaritas and actually kept it all down, a much welcome change from the previous night. I mean, Mexican food is great and everything, but the night did not really kick off until we trekked on over to the - drumroll please - Clermont Lounge! It was my first time there, although probably not the last. Within twenty minutes of being inside, I got my first birthday lapdance (thank you, Steph & Bode!) from a lady dressed up as Dorothy, ruby red shoes and everything. It's a little disconcerting to have someone tell you they are 62 with a kid your age while they have their tits in your face. Needless to say, the PBR was a-flowin', and the company was great. Later on, I got another lapdance from the infamous Blondie who motorboated me about three times too many and proceeded to grab my beer can, crush it with her chest, apply lipstick, kiss that poor PBR, and hand it back to me, but not before saying, "Honey, you cute as a button!" Oh multi-talented strippers, I love you. Everyone drunkenly walked across the street to The Local, more drinks were had, and photobooths were put to good use until last call. We somehow managed to get back to Danielle's in one piece and crash in various locations around the house. Needless to say, even after drinking plenty of water and taking Advil yesternight, it took a couple of hours to fully come to...and that's how I know it was a good night. Plus, I mysteriously had "Peach Cobbler - Portia" scrawled on my chest in black Sharpie and "yes, please" across my back. Thanks, guys.
Madison and I finally got around to seeing The Dark Knight on Sunday. Wow. Even though every single person that has seen it has had nothing but amazing things to say, I still had my doubts that it was as good as everyone said. Oh, but it was. Heath Ledger's Joker honestly gave me the creeps. Whenever his voice would go from that creepy, almost falsetto to a deep growl, I got chills. The Joker is just a scary motherfucker, for lack of a better word. He really has no motive besides wanting to see everyone miserable and the world in choas, and that is one dangerous son of a bitch. Also, I think it's a shame that a lot of reviews leave out how good Aaron Eckhart was as Harvey Dent/Two Face. I'd like to know how long it took to do Two Face's makeup. That eyeball? Ugh. But Christian Bale? No words necessary, although I still picture him as Patrick Bateman sometimes, and that has a tendency to kill any sort of attraction.
Can we just take a moment to reflect on how sexy of a superhero Batman is? I mean, honestly. It's a damn shame he is not for real because I would be lining up to get a piece of that. Wears an all black suit complete with muscles, lives in a sweet penthouse with possibly the coolest butler ever, drives nice cars, AND saves lives at night for no other reason besides he wants to see the world as a better place. Plus, he doesn't ever try to kill anyone, just defend himself or protect someone else, and he doesn't use guns, just his hands and nifty little gadgets. My god. I would fall off a building voluntarily if it meant Batman would swoop down and scoop me up. Just sayin'. I don't even like superheroes usually. Spiderman? Total nerd, and not in a cute, endearing way. The Incredible Hulk? Ehh, kind of would not like to be around him. Batman and/or Iron Man? Yes, please.
My boy B-Mac got drilled in the game against the Phillies! Poor guy. He has a minor concussion, and I think he is going to be out for a couple of games. I'll wear my jersey for good luck for him. Get better, Fatty McCann.