She wants her cup of stars.

more cat pictures

Last night I had tasty tasty curry with te_amo_azul at the Kalga Kafe, which I have driven by hundreds of times, and every time I drive by I think: that place looks awesome. It was delicious. We tried a thai basil martini, which was one of the strangest drinks I've ever had (very basil-y) but wonderful (I think it'd be the perfect hot weather drink). So now officially whatever sucked on my birthday proper has been reupholstered, since I've had like a month of birthday activity.

Ms. Azul gifted me with the following books, as well:
Soulstorm by Clarice Lispector (which I have been told is lifechanging)
Maqroll by Alvaro Mutis
They're Cows, We're Pigs by Carmen Boullosa

This is perfect as I have long wanted to explore some literature from Latin America but am largely ignorant. The Lispector book has an introduction from Grace Paley, which is even more intriguing because Grace Paley is in fact the bomb.

And now I am definitely twenty-seven, and have been sent off with much love and kindness.

So this weekend is my birthday, and that being the case I feel almost like I should plan a party. Upon thinking about it, though, I realized I don't plan to have enough energy after roller derby to party any more. So here is, so far, my plan for turning twenty-seven.

1. Purchase most ostentatious, glammed-out drag queen princess tiara possible. Wear it to roller derby. Wear it possibly the rest of my life.
2. Go to johnnybrainwash's prefunk. Drink johnnybrainwash's liquor.
3. Scream a lot at roller derby. Ogle cute half-naked tattooed girls. Later apologize to hplovescats and claim I was drunk.
4. On birthday proper, sit in backyard on blanket with sunblock on. Possibly cajole hplovescats to grill me a cheeseburger. Drink beer, unless liver protests. Then revert to lemonade.

So far that is the plan. I had thought to be more sober at this derby such that I can better follow and comprehend the action. This may or may not actually happen, in which case once again I'll just yell really loudly at everthing that happens.

I am officially going to be the age at which rockers die. It's a good thing I'm a total and complete square. But I'll still pour libations for Kurt, departed icon of adolescence. Not the first man to make me love smudgy eyeliner on a man, but certainly he did justice to the cause.

Oh: and a shoutout to alecaustin, whose birthday doth approacheth. I hope the white paper hasn't destroyed your mind.