"I put your mail in your room," Lee Anne said. "You should go check it."
There were at least a gazillion signs, give or take a few, that something was being plotted for my birthday. All those times that Lee Anne asked me if I were free or planning anything ("yes" and "no"). That Diana, Erin, and Grace accompanied me home (after making a quick stop at Erin's apartment so I could borrow a piece of luggage) for what I thought would be a small pizookie party. That Lee Anne gave me a nonchalant nudge to go to my room for my mail, which she never does.
But my brain works in funny ways. And by "funny" I mean "sort of slow, like this sleepy kitty."
So I walk to my room with the intention of showing it to my guests, not realizing that I was being followed by no one. I bust open the door and see...darkness. Quite normal.
And then Ken's face. Which is less normal. Because he doesn't live in my room. And Greg's. And Tristan's. And John's. And Lihan's. And then I hear a crack accompanied by an explosion of rainbow confetti curls and a pained look on Ken's face because Greg aimed the confetti tube gun in the not-quite-right direction (that is, towards Ken), to Ken's detriment.
And then I sort of freaked out for the next ten minutes because 1) WHAT THE HELL, I THINK I ALREADY HAD A SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY, and 2) WHAT THE HELL, you guys did this for me again? and 3) WHAT THE HEEEEYYUUULLL I don't deserve this, you guys. Not at all.
After my brain reset itself, I got to enjoy the typical party components.
It ain't a real party without pizza, so Lee Anne made sure there was plenty to go around. The pepperoni was sadly neglected, so I made it feel better by stuffing a slice down my throat. Hooray! All pizza is welcome to die in my belly of stomach acids no matter what its topped with.
John had read my post about my love of grape soda so he brought a few bottles for me. Aw! It was a funny little thoughtful thing that made the party so much better. Because it was enhanced by artificially flavored grape soda.
It would've been a shame to let the pile of rainbow puke confetti detritus on the floor go to waste. So we didn't.
I pretended to pass out on the floor with a bottle of grape soda. Festive!
And...that's Greg. And a not so happy Giant Manatee
See, this is a much more acceptable way to interact with Giant Manatee.
And then it was time to bust out the huge tub of vanilla ice cream, aka pizookie topping.
It wasn't actually as big as my torso.
And then holyshit PIZOOKIE TIME! Lee Anne made the cookie dough from scratch! GLORIOUS COOKIE DOUGH OF SUGARY, BUTTERY GOODNESS.
It didn't take long for everyone to dig into the pie tins of underbaked cookie dough topped with clumps of melting vanilla ice cream seeping into every gooey crevice. Crunchy, soft, warm, cool—it's got it all. ...Except whipped cream. Gotta draw the line somewhere, I guess.
Even though I was stomach's-gonna-rupture stuffed, I kept going. It's too tasty not to. Also, my foolish 24-year-old mind is gonna milk my 24-year-old metabolism while it's still letting me eat junk like this without suffering grave consequences.
A fuhjillion calories later, the pie plates were mostly cleaned out of their sugary fatty contents.
And then we all went into food comas. After taking this silly group photo.
- Front row: me, Grace, Erin, Claire; second row: Ken, Lihan, John, Tristan, Veronica, Diana; dude with fan: Greg; standing: Chris and Lee Anne
I punch my friends because I love them.
And that's how my life as a 24-year old (mid-twenties, guys...I AM NOW IN MY MID-TWENTIES) began. With. Giant Cookies. And. Awesome.
Thanks again to my amazing friends for coming out...and making a grand celebration out of my slow journey towards death! As usual, Lee Anne is a pro at surprising the 'boppy. ^_^