How to turn 38

FBS brought beer. Who'd a thunk, right? Every other person brought wine -- 'cept James... who thought it appropriate to get me smashed out of my gourd on peach vodka and peach Pucker. Not that I'm complaining.
So there we were, sitting on the roof of South Side on Lamar -- where CAMPR houses its offices -- and it was hot enough, despite the breeze, that for that first 90 minutes we really needed to be in the water. Except for Gretchen, who has no body fat and therefore cannot stay warm in water that is less than body temperature. We made her get out and wrap herself in a towel. It was really for her own protection as the male stripper who was hanging with his stripper friends practically accosted her while she was "just minding her own business." Yeah RIGHT
FBS learned that you cannot stand on stainless steel that has been baking in the Texas unless you have your shoes on. Mark entertained us all with his unicycle, which Todd now insists he has to purchase. Fire brought wicked whikey -- and I drank that, too. He nearly didn't miss me with his reverse kick move as he showed me his irritation at calling Chihuahua his son. 'Course I specifically called him his "not son," but Fire reminded us that Chihuahua is really his gay lover. So no one will be making that mistake again soon.
There were enough veggie dishes that Clive and Barbara did not suffer too badly. Letha had roasted red pepper spread and rye crisp, lots of tales about her New York educated daughter moving to the heart of fly fishing country in Montana, and a very quiet Mr. Dick in tow. Mr. Dick... I did not look in the bag until well after you were gone. I was going to open it and give you grief as I kissed you hello. But, I'll mind my Ps and Qs better next time. And maybe I'll be wearing more clothes.
Hashers and supper-clubbers alike partook of the view. FBS, JDCINH, Pork Me Now and Hog taking the extended tour around the deck, and bragging about how FBS pissed off the roof onto a Porsche -- just 'cause.
Justin brought cat litter and it turns out you can pick up chicks carrying a bucket of cat litter with a giant yellow bow on it. Too bad chicks aren't on Justin's agenda. Besides, I hear tell if he did dig chicks he'd be chasing my sister. Well, that's one way to lose weight.
Annie got lost, or seemed lost, or something. She ended up getting an escort to the party. Ralph cooked all the food. And James took pictures: mostly of the strippers (both male and female) who live in the building.
Hamburgers, sausages, pork steaks, chicken,shrimp, coleslaw, tomato and broccoli salad and red pepper slices vanished before our eyes.
Todd and Dana stayed until the bitter end and helped clean up the loft.
The sun set in spectacular fashion and the breeze forced us to put on shirts and grab towels to ward off the chill.
Seven hours of drinking and sun later, I collapsed on my bed and slept on my wrist... which aches as I type this. But other than that, all is well.
Thanks to Dee, Faith, Rachel, Dave, Todd, Justin, Hannes, Annie, Don, Clayton, Joe, Ralph, Gretchen, Hog, Julie, Letha, Mark, Cyndie, Dana, Clive, Barbara and James.
If I missed anyone, my sincerest apologies. It was a glorious birthday.