I’ll Cry If I Want To…
December 15, 2010 § Leave a comment
Every year my birthday gets more and more depressing. It’s only one week away from Christmas, to say it gets over shadowed would be an understatement. All my life, combined gifts! That’s like if I showed up for your July birthday saying, “well, I brought that strawberry shortcake for the 4th so lets just stick the candles in this meatloaf.” What might be worse then a combined gift is receiving a birthday present wrapped in Christmas paper. I’d really rather receive feces. Presents make me nervous in general, sort of like a hug from someone you’ve only known for a few moments.
Not that I need to be in the spotlight, because it’s not about that. It’s about the slim pickings for celebration. No one wants to party down for birthday festivities because they have a super cool work Christmas party, or even worse, they use the excuse that they’re just so tired from the holidays. Right, that’s like saying you’re exhausted from being well fed, feeling jolly and relaxing in a fun winter wonderland. It’s also falls right around the time when everyone starts leaving town, especially if it lands on a Friday. Or I’ll get corralled into sharing a party with Christmas and all the other December babies who are equally and annually pissed off. So the day isn’t really about me now, is it? I’d much rather everyone leave me alone and forget my birthday altogether. But everyone always remembers because it’s so close to Christmas. So now I have a whole bunch of people harassing me about my plans, but no one who will actually partake in these plans with me. It’s all very stressful, but does usually work out one way or another. I don’t need a big bash, I can always count on someone to take me under their wing and try their best to make the day special.
In 2006 I turned 23. I had just moved to Los Angeles and I had just broke up with a college sweetheart, who really can’t be categorized as sweet at all. I was finishing up an internship, so naturally around the 16th my housing was terminated. I was to spend my birthday in the Midwest. Like I said, every year someone takes me under their wing making it their personal mission to make sure I have a good birthday. This year it was Stormin’. She was finishing up her last semester of her undergrad and was determined to make it a Michigan State Birthday. She stayed around campus a few days after finals to make this possible. If you you’ve ever lived on any college campus you know that the day finals are over the city empties out. East Lansing was no exception, but without considering this we got dressed up and went out anyway.
First stop: Landshark, starting with scorpion bowls. I only went to MSU for the two years of college that I wasn’t of legal drinking age, but I’m pretty sure Landshark was a hang out for Soror-whores and Frat Fools. But Stormin’ was my favorite Sorositute so felt I was in good hands, even though we did get hit on by a couple chowderheads in argyle. To be fair they were the only two other people in the bar, and two girls with their heads in a large bowl of blue booze with a ton of straws would look like a constellation prize to anyone. After they bought us our next round we made up some excuse like we were jail bait or lesbians and it was onward to Lou-Has. But not before we partook in free birthday shots at Rick’s and PT O’Malley’s while braving the wind chill.
We gave the grey goose high fives at Lou and Harry’s and even though there were only four other people out that night, I spotted someone who I thought was cute enough and made eyes at him. I made eyes at him for four and a half cocktails, then he left, shaking his head. And I thought liquor looked good on me. We combated this setback by frolicking in the snow with Captain Morgan in the parking lot. At least I think it was Captain Morgan, I don’t know any other pirates near the Great Lakes. Anyway, down the street to Harpers.
After seeing me try my best sexy stare at the clod in Lou-Has, Stormin’ now had a new mission: get the birthday girl laid. And the odds were pretty stacked on my side, I was blonde, twenty-something single, it was really my birthday, I was somewhat inebriated, and all the regular sluts had gone home for the holidays. Well, them and most of the cute guys too. I was justifying this on my beggars-can’t-be-choosers rant when Stormin’s boyfriend came by to chaperone. If you’ve ever seen the two of us together, you know we need to be chaperoned. Stormin’s man knew just what to do, he took us to get late night blackout munchies and while we were sidetracked by burritos he ushered us into his car to take us home. Turns out, we weren’t the only ones in need of a sober ride. In his backseat were at least three male Junior undergrads. And with my trusty drunk goggles on, they all looked pretty hot. Happy birthday to me.
After a bit of a struggle we finally reached his apartment. We had went off course in the parking structure when Stormin started chasing me trying to give me birthday spankings. I had to hand it to her, she really knew how to celebrate. Adamant to continue binge drinking and being one of the best afterparty hosts I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, Stormin’ made sure everyone cracked open a can of birthday booze. The boys put on Clerks II and I began a film school sermon about the back and white stock they used shooting the original and other Kevin Smith history. Before I knew it, Stormin’s boyfriend had put her to bed and the only other person awake was the roommate. I guess he was as good as any, warranted only by the fact that it was my birthday.
I woke up the next morning in his bed with the power of 16 marching bands drumming in my brain. Through the headache I remembered the most important detail of the night, “no condom, no nookie.” Whew. Narrowly escaping disaster, but not regret. I quietly gathered my things averting my eyes from the hairy beer-bellied underclassman and set out to wake up Stormin’. Our disappearing act concluded with breakfast dubs at Meana’s Joint and a prompt return to her apartment to ride out the hangover on a chick flick movie marathon. I spent the day on the couch ashamed. Not the best start to my 23rd year of life: waking up next to a mistake and watching six hours of Jennifer Lopez try to act. Although, her confused face is hysterical.
This year I have other plans. I’ve wised up and was able to snag myself a winter manfriend to keep me warm on those chilly nights. Coincidentally, his birthday is the day before mine. Both eternally bitter about being born so close to Christmas, we decided to hide out in a half-priced suite in the desert while we turn 27. And that’s why it’s going to be a good birthday. That and how good he is in the sack. *wink*