500 Days of Malice

Threw another birthday party for myself Saturday night, which was an improvement over the first birthday party. All the benefits of a proper sequel: more advertising, larger cast, bigger explosions, more puking.

At the primary bar, I ended up scoring a bottle of (über-cheap) "champagne" since I managed to trick at least 10 people to show up as part of my entourage. I am enjoying this "champagne" as I write this entry. The verdict: it's sweet, it's dry, it's sparkly and it's a-gettin me effed-up.

Perhaps I should just keep throwing myself birthday parties all year long.

I just wanna be loved—is that so wrong??

Honestly, I adore all the friends who showed up, with particular appreciation for the super-troopers who showed up to both parties. You know who you fucking are.