Berfday Recap

I'll spare you the suspense: nothing exciting happened at my birthday party. I know this opener doesn't exactly lure the reader in, but I also know that you are just so fucking bored at work you're going to keep reading anyway, so to hell with it.

But 30 is not a fun age anyway. 29 – sure. 29 means I'm still in my twenties, 29 = c-e-l-e-b-r-a-t-e. But 30? It's crap. The next big birthday I'll have is 40, and let's not kid ourselves; there is no way I'm making it to 40. Good lord. I have a better shot of winning Ms. America or not jerking off than living until 40. But let's change the subject because I'm starting to get sad.

The good news is that this year's party was better than last year's. In some ways, at least. We had the impromptu party this year at The Brass Ring, the same place that we went to last year. You might ask why we would return after such a horrible time. The answer is that my friend Dan and I don't really have a go-to bar. Sure, we go out, and sure, we know a lot of bars, and sure, one time at work I shit out a 24 oz. can of Miller Genuine Draft, but we don't have a home base.

The Ring was the closest thing we ever had to a home base. I live only a few miles away from this place. Not only that, the beer is reasonably priced and the jukebox is excellent. More importantly, it never really gets crowded. So when it came time to pick a spot, we had no other recourse. Back to the Ring, for better or worse.

But unlike last year, this year NO ONE CAME.

Before I go off on all my "friends" who didn't come to my party, a few things:

1) I owe a big thank you to everyone who did come. It was nice to see you, and I appreciate you stopping by. I hope you enjoyed yourself, and I enjoyed myself when I hung out with you. Really. It was only when I looked out to see all 10 people there did I think, "Where the fuck is everybody?" and thus became enraged. Otherwise, it was a great time.

2) I fully realize that I suck as a friend. And as I went over the list of no-shows in my head, I realized that over the years I have not attended many of their parties, preferring instead to sit in my condo to watch VH1 Classic and drink Bud Bombers, ignoring their calls and text messages asking where I am. So I should understand why they didn't come to mine. And I do. But I still hate them. You know, being a generally hateful person and all.

3) I am not the type of person who derives self-worth from the approval and/or love of others (biggest lie I've ever told in my life). Nor am I an annoying birthday person, the type of guy who has to have everyone stop everything to celebrate the day he was born (still a lie, not as big as the first). It is important for you to know this.

Having said all that, last year, even though the party sucked I'd say about 50 friends were there at various points of the night. I felt awesome about this. Loads of people were there to wish me a happy birthday, my buddies were there to buy me a shot, and my female friends were there to let me linger a little too long after getting a kiss on the cheek. Despite the shitty location, these things made me happy.

But this year, no dice. When we got to the bar at 10pm, I was happy to see that it wasn't crowded, meaning my friends and I would have plenty of room to hang out. Unfortunately, I thought this same thing at midnight. And then at 1am. Then at 2:30am. Etc, etc, etc.

So to my friends who didn't come, you have made a serious mistake. As I have mentioned here before, I am good at holding three things: titties, hoagies, and grudges, so you're all fucked (yet another lie). Not only that, your timing couldn't have been worse, what with me on the cusp of super-stardom (I'm just full of shit today, aren't I?). So I will see you all in hell, where I will make sure to come over and kick you in the genitals. We are no longer friends. Unless you are one of my attractive female friends and you would like to seduce me to make up for your no-show. Because then everything will be ok. Because I am lonely (not a lie).

Speaking of being lonely, I do have one little nugget worth sharing from this weekend. My buddies Mike and Earl were in Jersey, from NYC this weekend. On Friday night, a handful of us went out to – what else – drink beer and not talk to girls. We drank a bunch at my place and then hit the first bar, which was generally lame. Our self-confidence buoyed by drugs and alcohol, we decided to try to meet some chicks. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but that's what drugs and alcohol will do to you.

We left the first bar and went to another nearby. As soon as we entered, we saw three attractive but not necessarily unattainable girls sitting by the bar. Score!

To give you a better idea of the situation, allow me to list the dramatis personae:

Mike, 27, former contestant on "Average Joe: Hawaii". Generously 5'6", generously 185 pounds, and generously 20 beers deep.

Earl, 28, "associate producer" (read: coffee boy). Was up at 4:30 in the morning for work and had been drinking since 4pm. Time when we entered the bar: 2:15am. Earl was barely breathing at this time.

Dan, 30, the handsomest of the group. Of course, just as it is with women, the best looking is always involved in the serious relationship, which was the case with Dan...he's married. And no, I'm not gay because I realize Dan is handsome. Leave me alone, ok?

John, 30, one of the 50 most gorgeous men ever, alive or dead. Famous, fucking famous. And gorgeous. In his own mind.

I smoothly approached the bar to buy us drinks and also to eavesdrop on the girls' conversation. I thought maybe if I listened to their conversation, I could interject with some of the witty repartee that has made me America's Favorite Internet Celebrity (notice the caps).

Hanging all over the girls was this extremely drunk, kind of sketchy British dude. It looked like an uncomfortable situation for the girls: this guy was hanging on the hottest one, and she was turning away from him, rolling her eyes, and trying to get him to buzz off. Eventually (and I mean eventually – he was there for a while), he got it and went away. And it was time for me to make these ladies' night.

Suavely, and more importantly, unthreateningly, I walked up to the ladies with an easy smile and said, "Man, that was brutal, huh?", referring to the guy who relentlessly hit on them.

Let's stop right there.

Now I wasn't expecting them to burst into laughter. Nor was I expecting them to start clawing each other's eyes out over who would be the first to give me a handjob for my comic relief. All I expected was some smiles and an opening, so I could come back with something like, "If you want, I'll go kick his ass. I did, like, three push-ups this morning, so I'm feeling pretty invincible right now."

Instead, the three girls looked at me, stared for a second or two, and then turned away.

Ouch baby, very ouch.

I slowly slinked away, much to the delight of my friends, who watched the approach, the attempt, and the horrible, horrible failure with great interest. To add insult to injury, the girls then got up and moved to another table in the bar. I think at this point Earl peed his pants a little bit because he was laughing so hard.

To be honest, I wasn't bothered by this. The delight it gave my friends far surpassed any hurt feelings I had, so it rolled right off me. But I think that I should re-think my approach. Instead of opening with a lame line, perhaps I should just be honest. Something like, "Listen, I'm not very good at this. But the good news is that I'm too drunk to have sex with you anyway. So I guess what I'm hoping for here is an hour or so of good conversation, followed by you and I going back to my apartment to slow dance to Bad English's "When I See You Smile" before falling asleep. Then we'll wake up, go to the diner by my place, and have some eggs. Then sometime next week we'll get together again, I'll get you nice and drunk, and I will basically attack you with my sexual organs. Thoughts?"

You know what? I should print that line out and put it in my wallet now to use next weekend. Because otherwise I might forget and instead start with something like, "Did you ladies know that I won a silver medal in the National Latin Exam four years in a row from 1994 to 1997?" or "Do you girls want to see me drink a beer real fast then punch that bartender in the mouth?" Don't get me wrong - those lines are great, but perhaps their time has passed. Sigh.

Happy Berfday to me anyhow.