Pictures! I have pictures!

Last night’s birthday blast (OK, mini-blast) was everything a boy could hope for on a chilly Tuesday night in April. Take a look:

6:00 pm. Mother Hubbard's.

Here is a picture of me taking a picture of my birthday tart. I’ll type that again slowly so you can more readily comprehend its cosmic implications: It’s a picture of me taking a picture. Of a tart, but that’s not the point. And see that beer toward the left of the image, right in front of my friend Barb? SEE IT? That, my friends, is the second beer I’ve ever ordered in my life—and the first beer I’ve drunk all the way to the bottom ever. EVER! Unfortunately, the waitress came and hauled it away before we could have it bronzed.


Here is the above picture I took—posted right below the picture of it being taken. Some of us are still trying to wrap our brains around this concept. Like most everything associated with cell phone “technology,” the picture kinda sucks. But the sour-cream-and-apple tart featured in the picture was one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten. Even more delicious than Suri Holmes-Cruise’s placenta, which Tom reportedly planned to eat around the same time because he just had to have his alien freak beard-child on MY birthday.


Caroline and Gray. Caroline brought the abovementioned tart. She’s certifiably French, so she knows from tarts. Gray is certifiably heterosexual, so there is a more realistic chance that he is Suri’s actual sperm father.


Me and Matthew. Neither one of us is in danger of being accused of fathering children. Though my alien eyes might make me a more attractive prospect for a dubiously heterosexual Scientologist looking to squelch a rumor make a baby.

8:00 pm. Kevin.
Kevin is a fabulously upscale Asian fusion (that’s fun to say: Asian fusion!) restaurant ironically located right next door to the very dive-bar-y Mother Hubbard’s. Matthew took me there for a nice birthday dinner after my drunken whole-bottle-of-beer debauchery, and it was delicious (the restaurant, not the debauchery).

We were too full of beer and tarts to order alcohol and desserts, but the pastry chef made me this complimentary birthday cookie plate anyway. That beautiful scripty stuff on the plate is actual chocolate, and it was so pretty I could barely stop myself from licking it like a rutting pig. Barely.


I also don’t think this is the best picture of me, but let’s focus on the cookies and the chocolate, shall we? Yes, let’s.

11:00 pm. Jake’s house.
I have no pictures to share here. But I went to bed soon after I got home. Because I’m 38 now, and I need my rest.