Monday, July 19, 2004
worst birthday EVER
Among my many undesirable qualities, my worst has to be my stubbornness. I am even more inflexible mentally/emotionally than I am physically, and this is saying a lot, since I often have to have my roommates help me tie my shoes or wash certain parts of my body. But when I get my mind set on something, that's it. There is no changing it, and there's no use trying to change it.
This is magnified when I have a beer (or twelve). Usually, I am stubborn about two things when I'm drinking:
1) I need to eat now;
2) I need to make out now.
To accomplish these objectives, I will employ any tactic, regardless of morality or legality.
But also when I drink I have a tendency to shut down when I'm either pissed off or not having a good time, and there's nothing to be done to change this. If something goes wrong when I'm drunk and it makes me mad, then I'll spend the rest of the night sulking like a bastard, sweating angry sweat, and drinking at a terrifyingly rapid rate.
This is how I spent my 25th birthday party, which will heretofore be known as "The Birthday Party I Wish Never Happened" or "The Worst Birthday Party Ever."
It started well enough - I had a bunch of friends from Philly and Boston in town, specifically for the party. We gathered at my place and did some serious pre-gaming. Though we tried to "take it easy" on Friday night in preparation for our big day Saturday, we drank from 6pm until 4am, and spent the day Saturday sleeping in beds or tubs or on air mattresses, floors or couches, eating greasy foods, and clogging our toilets.
The pre-gaming was glorious, and reminded me of the good old days: just a bunch of dudes sitting around, listening to music, and throwing back beers and booze like it was fucking Mardi Gras. I myself was enjoying several red bull and vodka's, a drink which, as I have written before, can completely turn a night around and transform me immediately from Dr. Bruce Banner into the Incredible Hulk, although a much less incredible and much more sexually aggressive Hulk.
But the problem started when we got to the bar. First, it was very crowded. Not crowded with friends of mine, but crowded with people I didn't know. Apparently, since I moved out of the Lower East Side seven weeks ago, this bar got much more popular. Who knew?
Second and more damningly: the air conditioning in the bar was broken. When you take a small-ish, crowded bar, add another 100 people to the crowd, and have no air conditioning, well, it's kinda hard to have a good time.
I mean, it was hot in there. Really hot. When you walked into the bar, it was like getting punched in the face with a hot fist or something (ok, not my best simile - try Ace Cowboy's description). Instead of people coming up to me and saying, "Happy Birthday you handsome son of a bitch!" or "Would you like your birthday handjob now?", most said, "Listen, happy birthday and all, but I'm sorry - I've got to leave. It's just too hot."
And this threw me off the deep end. Waves of friends kept showing up and leaving after a beer or two, unable to stand the heat. I was super pissed off, apologizing profusely to everyone who came, and drinking with a fervor that would make my daddy proud. Despite the cajoling of my friends who tried to get me to loosen up and have a good time, my stubbornness took over and I would have none of it. I spent the entire party cursing, going from shot to shot, drinking my damn free draft beers, and, oh yeah, sweating like a pig (by the end of the night, it looked like I had just gotten out of a swimming pool - I wonder why I went home alone).
The good news is that I did black out. I know this because on my call log on my cell, I have several incoming calls (meaning calls I answered) from people I have no recollection of speaking to. I remember getting pizza at the end of the night, and I guess I got into it a little bit with the guy behind the counter, but all I remember was him being pissed off and saying to me, "God will punish you." I have no idea what I could have done to illicit such a response. Perhaps he could tell that I was a genuinely bad person and made the comment based on that? I'll never know.
And of course, as with any good drunken black out night, there are the battle scars. In addition to a variety of cuts I have over my hands and forearms, I have a three inch welt on my left bicep that I don't remembering getting. It looks like someone hit me with a television antenna. For all I know, I could have gotten into a fight with a couple of junkies over the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry and subsequentially been held down and horse whipped with an extension cord. But because somewhere around 2am my brain said, "Hey chubby, I'm gonna close up shop", I'll never know.
So let's recap:
- everyone was very uncomfortable because of the heat;
- most of the people who came left after a drink because it was overwhelmingly hot;
- some people I had hoped/was expecting to show up didn't show up at all;
- I spent the entire night pissed off, my stubbornness about the situation making it impossible for me or anyone around me to have a good time;
- I blacked out, meaning I don't have any stories, because, gosh darn it, I just don't remember shit.
Later, Ben, who stayed for the whole party, summed it up: "That party had the three worst things that a bar could have: it was hot, crowded, and it took a long time to get a drink." My buddy David, one of the guys who came up from Philly for the party, said that when I left I should pay his tolls and parking to make up for the stinker of a party.
So I apologize and thank everyone who came to the party. I'm sorry that the AC was busted. I also apologize to everyone who, when they said to me "Dude, lighten up", I responded, "I will bite you if you don't shut up right now." I was a little grumpy, but I was drunk, and as we all know I can't be held responsible for anything I do or say when I'm drunk.
What's the moral of the story? Never look forward to anything. When you expect something good to happen, you will invariably end up blacked out and sweaty at a pizza place at 4am, getting a curse put on you by a four foot tall Venezuelan dude. Instead, expect nothing. When you get something, even if it's only a little bit, you will be pleasantly surprised.
Now let's never speak of my birthday or the Celeganzas again. Please.