Adopted

I went to a lovely birthday party in downtown this past Sunday, celebrating the big 7-0 for Mrs. C. What baffles me is that she looks nothing like her age, and I'm convinced that she is lying about her age (though typically people lie to be younger, not older). If I look half as good as she does at 70, then everything will be splendid. Even cuter was when she danced with Mr. C. As jaded as I am, seeing those two shake their thang made me rethink the definition of longevity and happiness. On top of all the festivities, I was unofficially adopted by Mrs. C into the C clan, which to a lonely soul in a big city is a gift that is hard to match. The holidays are not particularly fun for me, as my family does not celebrate them. Hence, being accepted into a family that knows how to party is a big blessing. The party on Sunday was so loud that people who had rented the adjacent hall at the hotel was complaining. Somewhat ironic is that the people next door were bunch of old Japanese men. My peeps are so boring and sedated.

On a side note, I was mesmerized by one woman who had the most outrageous sense of style at the party. Her gold-painted 3-inch nails captured my eyes, along with her gigantic Louis Vuitton bag. Her hair was did with a hair product that will not move even while standing fabulously amidst the eye of a hurricane. I desperately need a product like that. If I could've taken a picture with her, I would've done it faster than one could say "I'll show you attitude!" Snap SNAP! Oh Miss Beauty Shop, please take me as your style disciple.

And then there was the cake. Mmm, delicious cake. I was all over that Strawberry goodness until I felt sick in my stomach. Once my stomach was better, I broke into the piece I took home, and felt sick all over again. Had I taken the sheet home, I would've consumed it until I passed out.