I'm walking through Capitol Hill with the most creatively dressed band of revelers in Seattle. Making our way from the cramped Moe Bar to the busy but not crowded Satellite Lounge, I'm looking like the world's sparkliest librarian, after being inducted into Syndi's birthday celebration with a molestation of glitter. "Now you can fly," says Wendy, smirking, dressed as Tinker Bell from a Walt Disney wet dream.
Once inside the Satellite, Syndi's bunch quickly takes over the bar and humanely forces out everyone who isn't celebrating with them. All of her friends are incredibly nice and affectionate, and soon I'm ordered to physically examine some woman's ass; "There's a lot of Nerf ass in this city," I'm told. The drinking is marathon-style and the conversation is as lively as it is informational. Zack, in his guise of the world's most chill rodeo clown, gives me the rundown on the two Burning Man groups represented: Black Rock City Animal Control and KAOS. "Burning Man," he explains, "is like the worst best time of your life." His look is deadly serious.
Closing down the bar, everyone heads to a friend's house, where I rediscover pinecone liqueur and other odd liquors. The rising sun signals to the party that maybe rest is needed before Saturday begins. Syndi, still awake and lively, admires the crowd as they leave: "Aren't my friends great?" Nothing I experienced tonight suggests otherwise. One week later, I'm still finding glitter in places unseen by the world at large.
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