Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Best Friend's Big Badass Birthday



I put my best friend's birthdays at the top of my priority list for two reasons: 1. I love her and 2. They're always so entertaining. So as soon as I slept off my Thanksgiving food hangover, I rushed home so that I wouldn’t miss Yennifer’s 28th birthday celebration. Mr. W and I headed into Spokane and met Yennifer, her sister, her mother, her boyfriend and numerous friends. One of those friends was Ann, one of my favorite people of all time who happens to have an odd relationship with booze (it makes her a little crazy). No best friend of mine would ever have a birthday sober, so we started off with dinner and flavored martinis at a local bar and grill. Afterward, it was off to our favorite new nightclub, Emperor.

Always the responsible one, Mr. W stopped drinking once the raspberry kamikaze shots began to flow at Emperor and Yennifer, her sister, Ann and I rocked out to “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Baby Got Back” out on the dance floor. Yennifer and I kept it together pretty well and had a great time. Eventually, though, I noticed we hadn’t seen Ann in nearly two hours. Shortly before the club closed, I found her in the bathroom, shaking her ass to the music in her head.

“I….can’t….find….Yennifer,” she slurred.

“That’s because we’ve all been hanging out in the balcony VIP while you continued to drink, silly,” I said, guiding her back to our group, who was closing their tabs in preparation for the end of the evening. A quick survey of the situation revealed that everyone but the designated drivers were three sheets to the wind. I was just sober enough to realize that, if Mr. W and I didn’t help Ann get home, she’d be found wandering the streets of Spokane or end up on a milk carton… or worse, the bed of the lecherous dude who was eyeing her. Not on my watch!

Mr. W and I each grabbed Ann by an arm and helped her walk the numerous blocks to our car, during which time she began to serenade us with Bryan Adams tunes and tell us how much she loved us. If we could just get her to her car, she said as she fell down with her legs over her head for the 3rd time, she’d be fine driving home. I politely told her that wasn’t happening as Mr. W helped her into the backseat. As Ann lectured us about “intercourse” and began to refer to everything as a vagina, Mr. W and I realized two things: we had no idea where Ann lived and no idea how to get her there even if we did. Fortunately, she was able to recite her address, so I mapped it out on my Blackberry and we were off. Thank heaven for technology.

After Ann spent the duration of the ten minute drive rambling and emptying the contents of my backseat into her purse, we finally found her apartment complex. As she wobbled out of the backseat, Ann took out her keys and attempted to lock my car for me. Mr. W and I helped her inside where I took off her heels so she wouldn’t trip and break her neck. Ann hugged me, told me that we were going to meet Bryan Adams one day, gave Mr. W the smooch of his life, and we were off. One hour, two turkey sandwiches and a lot of water later, we were looking at pictures and laughing hysterically. Finally, at four AM, roughly five hours after our normal bedtime, we passed out.

I woke up to a real-life version of textsfromlastnight.com on my phone. “How did I get home? Where is my car?” “Why is there biscotti in my purse?” “Tap dancing Christ. I’ve lost my sister.” The last one was from Yennifer. Her sister had hitched a ride home with Yennifer’s roommate and was safely asleep in her bed, but Yennifer had no idea and assumed she’d wandered off. Fortunately, by morning all was well aside from our epic hangovers. One more birthday with my best friend, one more hilarious, amazing, fuzzy memory. 

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