wig out

Those who know me well (or at all, really) know that when I am really excited about something, I swear a blue streak out of sheer joy.
I've been setting new standards of obscenity for the past few days, which means that everything is fucking spectacular.

On Saturday night, I had a Birthday Drag Ball. I have the kind of amazing friends who say "drag ball? in a former funeral home? absolutely, I'll be there!" and who dress up because costume parties are fun and hey, I'm never ever gonna get all gender-expression-prescriptivist on anyone.
(It should be noted that we were having too much fun to take photos that night. Dancing wildly on a glitter-covered floor did not make me pause and grab my camera, which may be the greatest sign of party success.)

I have the kind of amazing friends who, when I said to Kate and Jarod, who have served as the other two participants in the Winter Birthday Party Triumvirate since I've known them, "so this year, drag ball birthday?", their immediate reaction was "oh hell yes!"

I got to celebrate my thirtieth birthday surrounded by people who talk about wigs, LCD Soundsystem, postmodern literature, Doctor Who, bicycles, classical portraiture, "Watch the Throne", theater, and sparkly eye makeup. I celebrated in a wonderland of cava, hip-hop, sparkles, and pure fucking happiness.

I have the kind of amazing friends who had as much fun as I did, even when their interests are absolutely nowhere near wigs and glitter and fucking with conventional gender expression.

And I'm not generally good with big demonstrative Feelings, but: I am the luckiest goddamn person in the world. I made it to thirty and not only did I not die (yet!), I made it to thirty with the most glorious coterie of friends a girl could ever hope for. So thanks, everyone, for making my brain light up like a Lite-Brite.

1 comment:

. said...

Woot woot triple woot! I'm so glad to be your friend and Chicago would not be te same without you.