11:50 a.m. - 2003-12-23
hijinks
It pains me to realize I cannot scream about the suspension of rules/reality/propriety in the name of my birthday any longer. The best way to explain the enormity of the last handful of days is to put each in a little category and explain all the recent magical goings-on. Please ignore hung-over typos or bad word choices. My hurt hurts.
The Cabin
Eight of my lil friends and I piled into what I like to refer to as a retro haunted Swiss chalet, this beautiful/weird A-frame cabin in Rock Creek, a tiny place tucked between the folds of reality outside Missoula. I should have known things would go awry when we started off the drive with PBR tall boys. It was the hungover day-after-their-birthdays for my lovely wife and her friend Tim, but what was my excuse? Inability to resist temptation of excess?
Basically, it was a harbinger. Everyone got quite wasted at the cabin - I got into a fight with my friend Jeremy, which I don't remember. All I know is that my rib hurts SO BAD and apparently, after I forced him to go inside, I told him that I wasn't a doormat for his feet, SO NEVER TO STEP ON MY FUCKING FACE AGAIN.
We laid around in the sauna, ate loads of food, smoked and drank continuously and all but face-fucked ourselves with the kind of excess that makes me proud to know, and keep pace with, my darling little friends.
Also, I invented new band names: Brodie Wainscotting and the Cock Doctors and The Hepatites. I passed out for maybe half an hour, but couldn't sleep. The wife, Tim and I were all piled into a bed, immigrant children in the Depression-style, and the heat was such that we couldn't sleep. So we chitchatted from about two or three until everyone was forced to get up at 6 a.m. All we could do was laugh about how impossible sleep was and in my case, cringe about the way my whole body seemed to be swimming in red wine.
Berfday Party
I hosted a small gathering at my friends' wonderful house, suggesting optionally cocktailed attire. I wore my mismatched punk rock suit, an obvious example of high birthday style. The only other person who heeded this call was my friend Julia, but almost to the point of ridiculousness: she rolled in wearing this low-cut, fur-fringed black dress, looking like a fucking '30s movie star. I guess she thought all my friends were going to be as stylish as me. But really, how many people can keep up?
Anyway...it was a wonderful night. At midnight, the bong was hit a few times and I kissed pretty much everyone. I was, however, not so terribly drunk that I was going to forgo an opportunity to drink for free, so I skipped around the less-than-happening downtown of Sunday night, and had a few free drinks. Official Drinking Alone on Your Birthday Songs: Born to be Wild and To Be Real.
Actual Berfay
Spent most of it Xmas shopping and then I had to hop on the nightmare roads, where people were ever dumber than any of us could have known and the fog was EVERYWHERE.
I had a nice dinner with my family, who then came out to the bars of Lakeside with me. I was already a little in the bag, but six shots later, I was saying things I shouldn't and my brother had to tell me to stop saying 'fuck' every thirty seconds or so.
If I had gone out with my family last year...now that would have been pitiful. It was actually sort of nice for the 22nd b-day. So, to those of you who felt the reversal of the universe pulling gently...it was the combination of the longest night, my golden birthday and the winter solstice.
