A couple of weeks ago, the fun-loving, curvaceous Internet-fashion-sensation Ms. Camilla Combs had her
fifteenth twenty-fifth birthday.
She decided she would have a quinceañera party, complete with Mexican food, a pinata, and OF COURSE, a frilly white dress.
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Thrifted Vintage, of course.
She was the belle of the ball.
She even showed me her nicely shaved armpits for the occasion.
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Stacia, Heather, and I were like the old crones cackling in the corner with margaritas. I know, I know…we’re not that old, but I like to bring this up because Camilla is fifteen years younger than me – which means she was born when I was getting horrible wrap-around-the-teeth braces put in my mouth. I didn’t smile with my mouth open for two years with those suckers. Or get asked out on a date. If Heather knew I had a blog and she happened to read this description of us at the party, she’d be like, SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, YOU WRINKLED HOBAG.
Anyway, going to Cami’s birthday was lots of fun. It reminded me it’s good to have a few friends who are younger than me, because talking with them about the stuff they are going through reminds me how glad I am that I’m not in my twenties anymore. I don’t know about you, but there’s a lot of decisions and changing happening in your twenties. Some for the best, but that shit was hard.
Cami had some lovely friends show up to celebrate…
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…but best of all was the amazing quinceañera cake Cami’s good friend Candice made for her. Oh my god, that thing was a stoner’s dream. Check it out.
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Full of candy! Skittles! Hot Tamales! Lollipops!!
I was beyond excited about the cake and made Cami light and blow out the candles because it was getting late for a school night and I had to leave. This was at about 9:45pm. Just about the time the rest of the young uns’ started to arrive. I remember those days!
I took a huge piece of cake and candy on a plastic plate in my car and ate it with my fingers on the way home. It was tits.
I tried to get a decent picture of Stacia and myself, because usually most snapshots of us look something like this:
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You point a camera at the two of us when we are together and we become a couple of retarded Saturday Night Live wannabes. In the one above, I am trying to eat my fingers because they were looking a lot like Vienna sausages in every picture Heather tried to take.
Thanks for the hands, Dad.
Thank you also to Heather, who was patient enough to keep clicking away until we got something that looked halfway normal.
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Happy birthday, Cami. I know you are full of champagne wishes and caviar dreams. I also know that one day they will come true, my darling.
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