That Most Wonderful Time…

I’ll say it right now: I love my birthdays.

I’m not confessing any sort of vanity or narcissism here, but I will be undeterred in my honesty. I love it when my birthday rolls around because, well, it’s nice when people pay attention to you, even if it is just for one. Particularly when you’re living in Shanghai and all your best friends are so far away. It’s hard enough to keep in touch as it is, and I’ve been guilty of missing some birthdays of people back in the States. But just one familiar voice, once reminder of remembrance, is better than all the cake in the world.

Oh wait, I also forgot: the binge-drinking isn’t so bad, either.

I just got home from work, on my way to have dinner with Tina, and then it’s off to the lethal Pegasus/Rouge/Guandi trifecta. Well, we’ll be lucky to make it to rouge, but for all-you-can drink, there is no sweeter birthday topping. Lucy, Chace, Anabela, Mike, Eddie, Timmy, Kira, Kei…how much more love could I guy ask for? Even if they’re there for the love of booze and not the love of hu, I can’t complain. Hell, even Wilkie and Rayfil are making an appearance.

Tomorrow night will be at DKD, with some of the same crowd plus Peter and Michael and Shell and the whole Mandarin-speaking gang. I will definitely try to keep the camera still for the pictures.

The birthday weekend has already started out splendidly. I got crap done at work (yay!), and on the way home I was pleasantly awoken by Jean, calling from Morocco. Now, I normally spit fire and flames whenever someone wakes me from my necessary after-school nap, but this time her giggles and anecdotes about karate chops and Bruce Lee were just what I needed to jump-start the inevitably enervating weekend. It’s good to know that you can always go home. Or Paris. Thanks, Poe Poe.

The great thing is, even after the weekend is all said and done, I’ll STILL be 26. Let the festivities begin…I’ll try to keep the puke to a minimum. Wish me luck.