On my way down to Christopher Street for dinner at Agave Saturday night for my friend Bridgette’s birthday celebration, I saw:
b) An old man waiting for his wife and grown daughter outside of a store called The Pleasure Chest. He looked so awkward standing outside the door and so relieved when his family came through it with their purchases. Or at least I assume it was his wife and daughter. I guess it could’ve been his two prostitutes, picking up supplies for their evening at his behest.
Bridgette’s party was pretty amazing, because
a) it included my three favourite co-workers from my software company who no longer work there:
Bridgette, Beth, me, and LaChantee
b) there was a maple duck confit quesadilla with goat cheese and a fig spread on the menu that LaChantee and I wanted to split, but there was a $5 sharing fee that we were not about to pay, so we just didn’t tell our server about it and felt veeeeeeeeery subversive:
c) I took this picture of Chantee looking like she has a red tumor growing inside of her nose:
d) Bridgette’s friend Sarah and I totally became BFFs. And by that, I mean that I dropped a fork on the ground before she got there and actually told her before she used it to eat her dinner.
Clearly an incredible time was shared by all: