a Sunday in May

I could live to be two hundred and never get used to the particular happiness that comes from receiving an unexpected invitation from a friend to hang out. A simple Drinks? text, and I light up along with my phone.

My inner tween, the one whose seventh grade girlfriends secretly went to see Debbie Gibson without her (some seriously scarring shit right there), always feels a rush of relief at being included. You like me. You really like me! It's a particularly virulent strain of insecurity that flares up now and again, despite my age. Pathetic, I know, but I like to think the inability to get over it is actually a form of gratitude. Because I am. Really, really, very, very grateful.

And I was grateful when yesterday, as I was just settling in to Part II of Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler (it's fantastic), I got one of those thrilling little messages. We're at the Akbar parking lot party. Super good music and a performance at 6:00. Come out! 

So I went out. And I spent the evening with friends I haven't gotten to see much of lately, in a scene I haven't been around a lot over the past year, because life. I've missed it - both the friends and the scene - and it was just a really awesome way to spend a Sunday in May.

I so wish my insurance plan covered bouncy castle usage. Drinking, drag, and dancing under a disco ball. That about sums it up!

Alcohol + flash photography + my friend Kenne = LOLz forever and always. Every damn time.

Oh, and the music was great. The album cover on the right has been edited beyond readability, but it's Tornado Wallace, Thinking Allowed. Listen to a remix of it here (but I see he's on Spotify, too).

Speaking of toonz, I'm way behind on a recent discoveries playlist. Soon, I promise!