I am now twenty-eight years old. Two years to thirty; twelve years to forty. I guess itâs not a big deal, but still â Iâm not where I thought Iâd be at this point in my life.
So last night was my birthday party â a lot of people came, but several were absent: Vidiya (sp?) and her friend werenât here; Beth didnât come; Charles and his date were no-shows, as were Kiki and Jason. But lots did come: Steve (the first to arrive), Marlon, Leesha, and (Uncle) Bob, Matt, Armando, Tiffany and Dave, Adam and Rob. I enjoyed myself, I must admit. And I got some cool presents â Marlon gave me a meerschaum cigar holder and an Arturo Fuente to smoke in it; Dave and Tiffany gave me a slinky; Matt brought me a coffee table book about â guess â coffee, and some chocolate-covered espresso beans. And Chhaviâs friend from school Sheena and her boyfriend Bill gave me a big box of about six rolls of film.
I also got some really cool cards. Tiffany and Daveâs reads, âA big expensive gift is what I wanted to get you for your birthday,â and then you open it to read, âBut I work at the same place you do, remember?â Steveâs card had a nun on the front saying, âCelebrate your birthday however you like!â and it continues on the inside, âYouâre going to burn in hell anyway,â to which Steve added, âTell us something we donât know, sister!â And in his card Armando wrote, âYouâre still a long way from 40 . . . but itâs turning 30 thatâs scary!â
It was, in general, a really good evening. A lot of people showed up later than I was expecting, but enough people did eventually show up that it wasnât an uncomfortably small party. That was something of a concern for me at first, as it was at Chhavâs party.
The food was a big hit. Marlon of course ate a ton of the bigos â Iâd fixed it for him once before when Chhav was out of town and we watched Natural Born Killers that evening, so I knew heâd like it. Uncle Bob, though, was all over that. He had about five helpings, I think. Armando said the bigos actually reminded him of certain kinds of French cuisine.




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