Too f%#!ing bad. We've still got a few days before the celebration, and I have absolutely no intention of stopping the birthday related mania for the following week until my actual birthday.
Settle in.
After a few months of prep, birthday weekend planning is complete. The hotel rooms are booked. The carpools are set. The itinerary has been decided. The guest list has been confirmed (three times), and I've managed to make it through without having a total nervous breakdown (although some of you brought me close...).
Now all that's left is the waiting.
The shenanigans that we undoubtedly will be getting into this weekend are of course what I'm looking forward to the most, but my second favorite part of birthday weekend is getting the truly ridiculous group of people that are my friends together in once place (which happens but once a year), and talking about what idiots we were the year before.
This annual birthday weekend has given us all some stories. Like the time that a friend of mine lured three unsuspecting straight boys he met in the elevator into our hotel room with promises of free booze, reasoning later to us, "If a straight guy is going to have one gay fling...I wanna be there for it?"
Or the injuries sustained by a party-goer after a drunken tumble out of a rickshaw.
There was also the year that no one thought to learn the route back to the hotel, and we ended up wandering around downtown Minneapolis for two hours before stumbling upon a cab (remember life before smart phones?).
One of our most memorable moments occurred during one of the earlier birthday weekends. It was fairly late in the evening, and everyone was good at drunk, but no one more so than this dude who was dancing erratically by himself. He had about four inches and fifty pounds on me (a bit like Hodor for any Game of Thrones fans out there), and was shaking it to Miss Independent harder than anyone has ever shook it before. My friends and I were snarking amongst ourselves ('cause we're bitches), when he caught me looking over at him.
Mistaking my gaze for interest, he came over and started grinding all up on me. I felt bad for being such a dick, so I danced with him for a bit before smiling, telling him to have a great night, and going back to my friends.
Everyone was laughing hysterically as I walked back. I was just about to begin regaling them with tales of how much funnier the situation was up close and personal when I noticed all of their eyes grow wide, and I felt two massive arms encircling me from behind.
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| Pretty much exactly what happened. |
After he got me back into his corner, he set me down, I believe he grunted at me, and then started dancing again. I looked around for support only to see that my friends had gotten over their shock, followed us across the dancefloor...and they'd gotten their cameras out to capture every moment.
So I played along.
I posed for a whole series of pictures with this guy (that he was completely oblivious to). Me trying desperately to reach the straw in my drink over his should her while he tried to make a pass at me, me hanging onto a pole to keep from being dragged off by the brute, me making funny faces while he leered at me in the background. We were all having a ton of fun, and I think that's what caused me to take down my guard and give him the opportunity that he was waiting for.
I had my head thrown back with my mouth wide open, hysterically laughing, when he dove at my face, sticking the entirety of his tongue into my mouth.
...and then he just left it there.
It felt like an eternity that his tongue lay unmoving in my mouth, his lips forming a suction cup around mine, but I'm sure it was only a matter of a few seconds. Just long enough for me to be blinded by the explosion of flashes from all of the cameras still trained on the two of us.
From what I can remember, I shoved off, insisted we had to immediately leave to my friends (who were now howling with laughter), and ran back to the hotel.
I have yet to see any pictures from that night, and I've been waiting for that shoe to drop ever since.
My sister's first birthday weekend made for a few of my favorite stories as well. I was nervous to bring her along, not sure how she was going to react to not only her first night out in a big city, but a night out in a gay bar.
She, of course, took to it like a fish to water.
I lost track of her pretty much immediately after entering the club. Our group is large, so it's not uncommon for us to split off once we get to the bar and randomly run into each other as the night progresses. I was nervous to lose Katy though. I mean, she can most certainly take care of herself better than I'd be able to, but she's my little sister, so I still feel protective. I wandered around looking for her for about 10 minutes before I spotted her...
...shoving wads of singles into the hands of a drag queen performing Toxic.
It was the proudest moment of my life.
As the night progressed, I watched her have more fun than anyone else at the party. I stumbled upon her talking to two guys who weren't in our group, that none of us had ever met, and I heard her shout over the thumpa thumpa of a fourteen minute remix of California Girls, "YOU SHOULD MEET EVAN! HE'S CANADIAN!"
She was playing dancefloor cupid...with complete strangers. I don't remember the last time I didn't just have to make up a name for someone I met at the bar because I couldn't be bothered to ask. Katy, on the other hand, wasn't just getting their names, she was having conversations that lasted long enough for her to get their country of origin!
She wasn't just making acquaintances either. She was making legitimate friends with people! As I was rounding up the group to move along to the next bar, I found my sister walking arm in arm with some guy I'd never seen in my life. I told her we were leaving in five minutes, and to meet us by the door. She responded, "Sound good! Michael just has to grab his coat!"
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| Who the f%#! is Michael?! |
The best stories, however, seem to all center around what is the highlight of some people in our group's night.
The go-go boys.
Now, I'm a big fan of half naked guys dancing for dollars...a real big fan, but my friends are on another level entirely. It's not, as you may suspect, the gays that are super into it though. The gays are far more interested in the writhing masses on the dance floor that are doing the same thing for free. Sure a guy dancing in a shower is appealing, but that dude's behind glass. Elsewhere in the club there's probably a guy who is just as cute, but who is open to a bit more audience participation.
It's the girls and the straight guys that lose their effing minds. The girls pass literally handfulls of singles down the line, screeching as they are shoved in the waistband of whichever tanned, toned hunk is grinding around us at the time, almost as if they don't realize how much top shelf liquor that money could buy them (or me, it's my birthday afterall)!
The straight boys on the other hand seem to regard the whole experience with a mix of curiosity, admiration, and envy, still telling the stories the next day at brunch.
I don't think I'd ever heard "like a baby arm" used as a unit of measurement before.
Three years ago, two of my friends took their admiration of go-go boys to a whole new level though. I'm going to withhold their names (to protect the guilty), but you know who you are...
As we were getting ready to leave the bar I noticed one of the ladies sitting on the couch, having an awfully intimate looking conversation with a guy whose underwear was stuffed with my money. I didn't think much of it at the time, but as the night progressed, I saw her and one of the gays in our group huddled together, giggling over her phone. This happened multiple times. After suppressing the urge to throw a shit fit over not being included in whatever inside joke they had going on (on my birthday), I lost interest (which I do with most things not directly involving me).
I'd nearly forgotten about it until about 3:30 am when we were all getting ready for bed, and my friend came running in with her phone yelling, "OH MY GOD! He's HERE!"
Here's how the rest of the conversation went:
"WHO is here?"- Me
"He's downstairs!!!"- My friend with the phone
"He's DOWNSTAIRS?!"- Her cohort for the night
"What is going on?!"
"I think he thought we were serious!"
"So he CAME here?!"
"Yes!"
"You mean to tell me there's a porn star downstairs right now waiting?"
"EXCUSE ME?! You guys invited a PORN STAR?! Where did you meet a PORN STAR?!"
"He's asking for our room number!"
"Well don't GIVE IT to him! He thinks we're going to have a threesome!"
"YOU GUYS INVITED A PORN STAR OVER FOR A THREESOME?!"
"Well we weren't SERIOUS!"
"Does HE know that?!"
"Who is this calling me?!"
"I gave him your number. I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!"
"YOU GAVE HIM MY NUMBER?!"
"Can someone please fill in some of the blanks for me here?"
"Should we just turn our phones off?"
"...do you think I should answer?"
"I'm going to bed..."
We googled the guy the next day. He hasn't got many films on his resume, but he seems like he's got what it takes.
The big celebration is 2 days away. If I make it through, I'll update you all next week! Wish me luck!
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