Fuck your birthday

It's Friday at 5 pm. That means I should probably fire up the grill, throw on a steak and find out if my dealer is in town. I sure am glad that I picked up these 12 beers so I can pop my shirt off and blast Third Eye Blind and catch a buzz while I cook this steak...who am I kidding, I'm going to throw it on for 30 seconds on each side and then suck the blood out of that raw meat like the American Vampire that I am. Jesus, I got burnt to shit on the 4th, I wonder if that diminishes the chances of me getting laid tonight. Whatever, it's dark in bars and the type of chicks I bring home are definitely not sober enough to discern hues of pigment. Oh shit, my phone is vibrating. I wonder what this is, maybe it's a like minded rager who wants to get absolutely butt faced in the next 15 minutes. Maybe someone came across last minute Dodger tickets in the all you can eat Dodger Dog section. Nothing better than going shirtless in right field, because I'm skinnier than all the Mexicans and it's just a matter of time before I slay a senorita in the handicap stall. Meh...a Facebook notification. Well, that's cool, maybe someone posted a funny video on my wall. That could give me a good Friday afternoon laugh. Maybe the chick from last Tuesday friended me so I can finally tell my friends what her name was...oh, no it's an "event notification?" 25th birthday dinner starts in one hour...ugh FUCK your birthday.

And not just your birthday, your going away party, your coming back party, fuck you. Oh, are you moving back home? Let's interrupt everyone's personal lives to celebrate your failure. You moved somewhere and couldn't hack it, so you're leaving...and yet you think you deserve a birthday dinner, a pre-going away pregame and then some sort of bar function. Oh and what you thought we were all going to chip in to get you a bottle because we are going to miss you?

Fuck that.

And don't even THINK about inviting me to the, now this is only for real close friends...last night was like the everybody dinner, this is the last supper. Listen here you self-centered prick. The only thing that makes me feel more uncomfortable than a black guy on the boardwalk asking me to buy his mix tape is a group bill split. 2 reasons, I always lose and I always underorder. The worst words in America, "Let's just split it." Fuck you, I ordered the chicken and you ordered the surf and turf and a bottle of Dom. Let's act like adults and the wealthiest person at the table takes the check. My family credit card got taken away after college so every time I get my ass dragged to a trendy restaurant I just see 3 letters APR.

Are we going to eventually get to the age where birthdays are no longer celebrated? Every day I fight a losing battle, I'm getting further from 21, further from society shrugging off an occasional indulgence in drugs, alcohol and drunk driving. At 21 that was kids being kids, at 25 it's well, ok. But at 26, 27, 30 it's like, grow up and get married you fucking degenerate. When are the women going to start lying about their age? That's what I'm excited about...people taking their birthdays off of Facebook and ending the wristband deals, the dinners, the celebration around it. I drink to have fun...I don't think it's necessary to have to celebrate the x anniversary - 9 months that your dad knocked up your mom.

But if you are going to carry out the ultimate in vanity and make yourself the center of the universe for an entire fucking weekend, for the love of god do something creative. I have been to great birthday parties and I have been to shit birthday parties. Remember when you were like 10 years old and everyone tried to one up everyone's birthday party? Nick had his shit at Chuck E Cheese, which was dope but then Sean shat all over Nick's parade and took the crew to the water park? If you are going to force me to throw loot towards some extravagance celebrating you, make me excited about it. You do want positive word of mouth do you not? A party bus is something I do not do every day. This excites me. A barcycle. A knighting at Medieval Times would be an A+ or even a cool concert. You know what is not an A? Dinner and Palihouse. $12 poolside cocktails with long names, "You know like I just wanted to go somewhere nice and we never do this, so it's my birthday, so why not?"

That's all fine and well but guess what. There are only 52 weeks a year, and most people choose an adjacent weekend, and I know more than 50 people. This means when people make a big fucking fuss about their birthday I am more often than not obligated to go to one of these shit events once a week. And don't get me started on the fucking people that drag it out all week, I fantasize about assassinating them. And I know what everyone is thinking. Jesus, if you hate it so much then just don't go. I would love to not fucking go, but I'm the only asshole willing to say this, and everyone else goes, and then if I am the only one that doesn't go there is a full fucking year of animosity about the fact that I didn't show.

I used to love getting Super Soakers and magic kits and shit when I would rent out Discovery Zone and go HAM for my birthday but then I turned 12. If you want to make me happy on my birthday bring me a handle of jager and a sense of excitement and set something on fire with me at 4 o clock in the morning. We can then have my birthday dinner at a diner while we call 411 and see if prostitutes deliver. That's all I ask. Until then, if you are going to have a lame ass fucking Facebook event telling me about your dinner and a bar plan on Saturday, yah, I'll be late for that. You don't deserve one weekend a year to feel special, unless you have the fortitude to plan something special.