On a glassed-in rooftop in downtown Seattle, among the potted plants and treadmills, a well-DJed ruckus is in full force. Theme: "What Don't You Want to Be When You Grow Up?" Ke$ha is walking around with a toothbrush and a bottle of Jack, while a bathrobed lady shows off pictures of her cat. One partygoer's shirt bears her current name badge from work, a beanie-clad hippie dances beside an environmental canvasser, and one guy is inexplicably dressed as a hot dog.
A tall bearded fellow in drag descends on Team Party Crasher, opens his purse, and holds out a can of Four Loko. "I'm the Four Loko fairy!" he proclaims. His lipstick kisses festoon cheeks across the party, including those of birthday boy Tristan. A triathlete whose abs come heartily recommended by more than one guest, Tristan says his birthday parties are always memorable. "I woke up in an apron last year," he tells us, and then slyly avoids the obvious follow-up: Just an apron? Dressed as a white-collar criminal in a button-down shirt over an orange jumpsuit, he's the picture of birthday jubilance, carrying a personal bottle of champagne and surrounded by a warm crush of dancing bodies, camera flashes, and bright laughter that seem to repudiate the cold rain blowing outside.
Happy birthday, Tristan. Your dance floor is ridiculous and your friends' adoration of you is charming. And thanks for popping this intrepid girl reporter's Four Loko cherry. I can't feel my mouth.
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