Colonel Mustard, in the library, with a wrench. (or, how I celebrated my upcoming 25th – hehem – birthday)

A Chicago birthday at Bangers and Lace, Prasino, Happy Village, and Flat Iron.

Y’all know how much I love birthdays. Especially when those birthdays are my own. I’m thoroughly of the mindset that you have a good two week window (one before and one after the actual day), give or take a few days, in which everything you do can be “for your birthday.” You can justify splurging on extra drinks, new dresses, nice meals, all because “it’s my birthday,” or, “it’s almost my birthday,’ or, “it was just my birthday.” True story.

So, since I won’t be home on my actual birthday this Saturday (don’t feel too bad for me — I’m celebrating in Hawaii), I decided to get a bunch of friends together this past Saturday to grab a nice dinner and go out for drinks. For my birthday.

The night started with a quick beer at Bangers and Lace because we were twenty minutes early for dinner. So I pounded a caramely bourbon stout and ended up running after some guy who had left his debit card behind. I have weirdly good helpful karma at that bar: it was the same place I returned someone’s lost cell phone years ago.

At 9:15 we headed over to Prasino for dinner. Yes, 9:15. Because I was lazy and put off planning and it was the only time I could get a reservation for a group anywhere in the area I wanted to be. But no one seemed to mind. But I was hungry.

After some amazingly delicious short ribs and a cauliflower something and a strawberry cocktail concoction, we headed down the block to Happy Village. It’s happy there. We didn’t play pingpong but did dance to awesome 80s songs. And I chatted up and danced with a cute guy who was tall and had a beard. But he was only visiting from California. I wish I had gotten his number though. Or his name. (Hey, who knows when I might be in California…) Alas.

Happy Village also had Tiger Beer, so I got one of those. Because…I mean…Tiger Beer…

When Happy Village was closing up, we decided to head over to Flat Iron, a late-night bar, for some more drinks. Alyssa and Jen were determined to find me someone to make out with “for my birthday.” There were definitely some winners to choose from…

Like the guy who gave me a pen “for my birthday” and then was yelled at for telling Jen she had a “nice personality.”

Like the guy who leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “Colonel Mustard, in the library, with a wrench,” and then walked away.

Like the guy who put his arm around me and said “you look like a girl who likes Indian guys.”

Like the really creepy guy who just kept walking by our table. And then standing right by us and watching us. And then putting his arm around our chair.

We were at least saved from that guy by a couple of other guys who had been sitting nearby. They were at least somewhat normal. And one of them just spent six weeks in India so we had something to talk about. And I gave him my number. But we didn’t make out. Not even “for my birthday.”