"Taste the Magic of Mexico" at Casa Bonita

Some people think Casa Bonita is an appropriate place for, say, a 3-year-old's birthday. But is it particularly inappropriate for a 23-year-old's? Because that's how I rang in the new birth-year. As a Casa Bonita virgin, I wasn't sure what to expect, either. Everytime someone mentions it I learn something new: "Oh, they've got cliff divers"; "Hey, I love their sopapillas!"; "Don't touch the walls of Bart's Cave"; "Don't miss out on the fortune teller- she looks just like Michael Jackson"; "Don't bother sending your food back. It all tastes that bad"; "Watch out for that creepy gorilla!" The strange part is that all of this I actually came to understand after going, and it doesn't sound so weird to me now.

My birthday was a blast, actually. After Casa Bon-eat-crap-for-food, a dozen of us went to Splitz bowling, which is bowling on steroids AND crack. It wasn't just the bad food, ski ball and beer that made me so happy that night. It was trying Dance Dance Revolution and NOT getting it AT ALL. It was breaking 100 points two games in a row, despite thick and choking smoke machine fog, deafening Top 40 music, strobe lights, colored lights and dizzying disco balls. And it was being with really fun friends at really funny places. I love a night in which you can go to Casa Bonita, go play bowling-on-acid, and follow all that up by waiting in Taco Bell's 30 minute drive-thru at 2 a.m. for some more bad Mexican food. This is why I have concluded that 23 is not old. Not at all, in fact. It's just an extension of being a teenager with a whole lot more freedom. I'm only 2 years away from being able to rent a car from virtually ANY car rental company, you know.

On Saturday, Jeff, Andy and I went to Mustard's Last Stand with high expectations that were far from met, but we did get to see a lone crazy man on Broadway and Arapahoe holding a hand-painted piece of cardboard that read "Hilary is Hitler." Andy made me a delicious dinner on Saturday, and I baked a "sweet and salty" chocolate cake (from scratch!) and made (from scratch) a caramel-chocolate ganache frosting for it -- with help from Stephanie and Andy. Yummm... There's lots left over, so come and get it while it lasts! To top off the evening, Steph did a remarkably accurate and awesome Tarrot reading for me.

This beats out last year's notable birthday incident in which a car crashed into my dear Treasure ('95 Taurus, power seats and windows) at 12:07 a.m. - the exact minute of my birth.

So thanks, guys! I love you!