Twenty-Four.

I turned 24 two days ago and it’s parties like last night that make me feel so grateful for the friends I have. Here’s a photo of the birthday cookie a friend got me:
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It was my 24th birthday party,  but they also made it a point to celebrate my first birthday as an out lesbian.

I love them so much.

It was a solid birthday. I almost hooked up with a cute girl, but (and as boring as this makes me sound) probably the top highlight of the party was when my tipsy self knocked over a glass cup and it broke, and before I could even move, ten people beelined into the kitchen, came out with paper towels, and cleaned up the mess within a minute while I stood there like an idiot. This was in my own home too. I almost cried from how impressed I was. Why is this interesting.

In addition to the regular planners, I’d also invited two (queer) girls that I’d met from an Inside Out Film Festival volunteer session on Wednesday. One of them I’d actually met on gay twitter. They were both relatively new to Toronto (one came from New Brunswick last September, and the other had just arrived from London, Ontario about two weeks ago).

We pre-drank at my place before heading to Crews and Tangos – my first time ever at a gay bar. Well, I went to Woody’s a few weeks back but they’re all queer men and men in drag -barely any lesbians.

Let me preface this by saying I was hammered as fuck. As I should be, on my birthday.

It got a little blurry after we left my place, but at one point, I ended up making out with the girl from New Brunswick and she dragged me into the bathroom. She wanted to go back to my place, but I knew I was too hammered for anything – I just didn’t know how to put it into words. Because catch-22.

Well, we did end up going home (very early, at 1am)… but my other friend also came with us because I’d promised she could crash at my place. Thank freaking god because I puked my lungs out and they took real good care of me. My friend crashed on the bed beside me while she crashed on the couch.

It’s my birthday, I’ll puke if I want to. (I didn’t want to, but it happened so I let it).

But overall, I had a fucking awesome time. A text from a friend at the party the next morning killed me:

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“ONE PERSON PER STALL”.

Solid party indeed.

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