another year closer to thirty

I had a very, very good birthday, which isn't difficult for me. Hashtag humblebrag. Every year I end up grouping ten or more people I love (and who usually don't know each other that well) and get them to do something involving food and/or drinking and/or music together. There's always a fear that it'll be a bust, people won't like each other, something generally bad will happen, but the fear is always quelled by my friends getting along smashingly and making the most of whatever we do.

How dope is the smoke from the dude who took the picture's cigarette?

This year we celebrated both my 22nd birthday and my friend Hisa's 21st at Hollywood divey dive, the Frolic Room, and Los Feliz's Harvard & Stone. (And also Jack in the Box on Sunset, sort of?)

Maddie pointed out that this is vaguely reminiscent of The Last Supper, with her as Jesus. 

The Frolic Room was tiny and had Blue Moons for $3.50 and a jukebox. Sadly, no one responded to our constant requests for Beyoncé. They also had TVs playing one of those TruTV shows in which everyone gets hit in the nuts. Connie explained the misconception of Asian girls having sideways vaginas to Maho and Linh, who had previously been living a life of blissful ignorance. 

We then made our way to the Harvard & Stone, a place which usually has great burlesque shows with a live band (like for real, the ladies dance on the bar and use the pipes all around to pull some amazing moves), but had a DJ spinning golden oldies when we got there. Connie and I had spent NYE dancing to the same genre of music at Monty and have now decided we can never go back to Top 40 dancing. V pretentious, obvi, but you just can't twist to Katy Perry and Mr. Worldwide the way you can twist to Buddy Holly and Chubby Checker (ofc). Also, guys straight up shaking their booties to 50's pop is really fun to watch.

A qt dude danced with me and spun me around shortly before this pic was taken. I think.

Alas, the night had to come to a close as the dance floor became barren and the cider ceased to flow. We made our way to Jack in the Box, at which Cristina, who had been killing it all night with the dudes because she is simultaneously the most beautiful and most kindhearted person I've ever met in my life, cut the five dudes in line to get curly fries. They didn't mind. Before we left, another guy came up to her and told her she was beautiful. The idea of a romance starting in a Jack in the Box at 2:30 in the morning is genuinely inspiring to me.

Legit thought Cristina was going to kill me in this cart. She is strong 5'0".

The next day, Connie asked if I remembered realizing I was 22, yelling "I'm another year close to thirty" and then crying. I didn't. (I vaguely remembered crying because I love Connie so much.) Moving through your 20's is just fucking weird, man. As a kid, I thought 22 was old. I thought 22-year-olds had houses and knew things. Now, I have a strong feeling 30 is where it's all at, even though the idea of being that old is terrifying. The entire purpose of my 20's is to become a cool 30-year-old. A house in Silver Lake, a couple cats, a succulent garden, getting paid to write, a creative boyfriend. That's endgame of my 8 Year Plan. As I trudge my way over to that number, I'll keep this quote from Ezra Koenig in mind:

If you’re lonely, bored, or unhappy, remember you are mad young. There is so much time to meet new people and go to new places. 

Thanks, Prince @arzE.