This was kind of an odd birthday. No family this year. But I got lots of calls, emails and IMs from my good friends. And a couple of my friends made plans to meet up at a neighborhood pub called the Village Idiot, where I planned to eat fish & chips and drink too much Guinness. A great place to drink, mainly because it’s within walking distance… no worries about being too toasted to drive. I’d been chatting with one of my best friends all night, all of 3000 miles away, but took her with me on the cell phone as I walked the few blocks.
VI was way too packed, it was a Friday night after all, and there was going to be no sitting down for a couple of hours, so we walked down Melrose and found a bar called the Snakepit. Smaller, also packed, but it seemed a little more comfortable. There my friends proceeded to keep buying me booze until my relationship with earth’s gravity field changed.
At some point an older lady — i.e. around 60 (?) — proceeded to “rearrange” my shirt and rub my nipples. I’m told she’s a regular. Okay. I told her that it costs 5 bucks to rub my right nipple and 3 bucks to rub my left. “How come the right costs more?” she asked. “Because the left one doesn’t get hard,” I said.
Sorry, no pics.