Oh my aching head. 39 is it. No more mojito-wine-chocolate espresso martini-dinners. Yesterday I started the day of my birth with a visit to Lisa, my beloved hair stylist, for my usual haircut. This time I told her I wanted to let it grow, could she just take a little off, and sure enough, the same haircut. No matter what I tell her, it’s always the same haircut. I don’t have enough forward momentum to seek a new person to break in, so the Lisa Cut it is.
D and I then took in a late morning showing of The Polar Express in 3D on the IMAX screen. It was the same “if only you believe” story that I’ve seen a million times with the same soaring manipulative music. The animation was pretty impressive, but the expressions stiff and wax-museumesque. If I were a kid I would have been terrified. Although, let me tell you, Mindplay, girlfriend, the hair was something, as if each hair had a program written for it. And on that huge screen! I felt like I was in the movie, a flea or something.
So after the movie we called BC to join us for dim sum at Yank Sing, where I warned D and Chris not to eat too much as we were going to have a big dinner, and then took everything off every passing cart. I can’t resist such stimulation on my birthday.
After a very short nap, I watched my favorite Hong Kong lesbian assassin film, Naked Killer on BC’s big screen. Madame Cindy picks up Kitty and recruits her to be an assassin, but Princess, Madame Cindy’s former protege, and Baby, Princess’ new protege, are hired by the Japanese government to exterminate Cindy, but Princess becomes insanely jealous of Madame Cindy’s interest in Kitty and must kill her, too. Lots of bullets and scissors in testicles, at least one sliced salame, tons of simulated lesbian action, shower death scenes, swimming pool death scenes followed by gasping girl-on-girl action in bloody water, and hats as weapons of mass destruction. It’s the best movie ever made.
So then off to The Last Supper Club with Peter and Luis, Emily and Tim, Big Chris and D. Peter and Luis turned me on to what promises to be a new obsession–obscure post-WWII German studio pottery. We laughed and ate lots of yummy food, and drank not really that much, but the chocolate espresso martini thing at the end was like a delicious time bomb. I woke up at 4 completely anxious about the end of my thirties and how career anxiety has overtaken my relationship obsessions and D not being interested in anything but me and how I’m going to fit everybody at the table for Thanksgiving and when is my glass kettle going to arrive. And then, just like yesterday, the sun came up and it was all over.
Here’s a (very long) picture of the drunk and tired gang. Clicca qui.
So the birthday week continues… off to the opera tomorrow night.