Photostrips from the Lo-Fi photobooth (one of these days I will drag Dean along!):
This past Thursday, both rooms were open in celebration of the DJ’s birthday. The organ lounge spun records by Roxy Music, Blondie, and T-Rex. The discoball room played Pulp, Blur, and Le Tigre. Not strictly Britpop, but strictly AWESOME. It’s the birthday bash I have always dreamt of for myself so I spent most of the evening trying not to explode from happiness. We hopped between decades and I avoided the restroom line by sweating out whiskey on the dancefloor (a disgusting but handy trick I also employ at music shows). It was maybe the best night out I’ve ever had in Seattle and I only regret having to leave at the reasonable hour of midnight.
Flashy-flash! Arabella and I have twice subjected ourselves to the Champagne Supernova drink special. It’s nothing against the bartender, it’s the ill-feeling that comes from dancing with a blob of jello in your guts. I’ll undoubtedly order it again though, like a fool who loves theme nights… Also worth noting: my male friends do not drink. No liquid courage for them, they’re just totally rad.
I don’t know any of those people in the front but I have a fuzzy memory of singing ‘Happy Birthday’ with them to Paco (the guy in the front-middle and beloved DJ of Thursday nights). In the harsh light of day, I am an awkward introvert but not on a night like this.
…And this made me smile the following morning
Ian: Man, my ass is killing me.
Me: What? Why?
Ian: Because I danced my ass off last night!