08.23.2002 - Celebrate By Eating Lots Of Raw Fish

After spending the previous evening waiting for midnight trying to get coo-razy but not even approaching the heights of my jackass potential in the skanketeria featured on MTV's Sorority Life, it's surprising that I woke up the next morning relatively early with a genuine smile on my face. Most days I'm not exactly ecstatic to be alive first thing in the morning, but most days aren't my birthday and most days I don't get all-you-can-eat free sushi. This is enough to make any tub of goo grin the goofiest of grins.

It would have been altogether understandable if I had stayed under the covers all day long, not even leaving bed to make wee wee on my birthday. With the notable exception of my last (my twenty-first, which I spent in Vegas), I've had quite a few bad birthdays over the past few years ranging from just plain unmemorable to twenty-four hours of pure unbridled evil. Aside from that, I've been feeling old lately, and admitting to people that I'm twenty-two now just makes me feel gross. You know.Kinda like the feeling you get after you've caught your brother masturbating, his massive gut gyrating with each violent swipe of his fist over his tiny member. I feel that way when I tell people my age now. Something like that might keep you in bed for a while.

For some reason, however, I felt optimistic about the day when I awoke. It helped when the first thing I did was open my gift from Jackson. He bought me a Perfect Pancake pan which indicates several things, including but not limited to the following:

1. We have obviously crossed the line between fake gay lovers and actual gay lovers at some point in time.
2. He actually listens when I talk occasionally
3. I am getting old if I both receive and like kitchen apparatuses as gifts
4. Eventually I'm going to have to give him my assflower. It's the only reasonable compensation for a gift such as this.

Having no actual obligations, I spent the rest of my day watching the clock, waiting for the time to leave for the Bay Area, pick up The Moms and get fat on sushi. Not being able to handle it any longer, Jackson and I hopped in his car sometime in the early afternoon.

Truthfully, he looked forward to this day more than I did. On his Low Rider Magazine: Hot Sluts Standing Next To Intricately Customized Old Cars Year 2002 Calendar and scanned down to August 23, you would see no indication that it's my birthday. No. You'd see, in big fat block letters, the name of the sushi restaurant to which planned to go. I may be a fatass, but that kid loves some sushi.

More than me, apparently.

OUR RELATIONSHIP IS THROUGH, MOTHERFUCKER. YOU HEAR ME?

I'm sorry. I take it back.

Anyway, we cruised up to The Moms' office building, grabbed her and headed directly to Pleasanton. Since I had seen The Moms less than a week ago, there was no real catching up to do. Just eating. I had gone roughly eighteen hours without consuming any nutrition in preparation. I was, indeed, ready to rock.

And rock I did while The Moms made dirty jokes and Jackson ate roughly enough fish to feed all those poor bastards Sally Struthers used to pimp out during commercial breaks for syndicated daytime talk shows. I enjoyed myself and felt the bloat of expanded rice in my stomach. It's an almost orgasmic feeling.

That is, of course, if your stomach hurts a lot and you can't move at all when you orgasm. That's how it is for me anyway.

After dinner, we dropped The Moms off at her car and headed back to Davis for fun times. However, since I hadn't gotten much sleep and had just had The Biggest Meal Of The Decade, I felt a bit tired by the time we made it home. I just couldn't stomach going to bed at eleven on a Friday, let alone my birthday, so we ended up going downtown and getting a couple of drinks.

Surprisingly, the first bar we went to was brimming with people a good three to four years our senior. It wasn't much for the socializing, but damn if it didn't make me feel a little young for a short while. Then we moved on to a classier, more depressing bar and had another drink before we realized it was one o'clock, and therefore acceptable to turn in for the evening.

Even though it wasn't terribly exciting, I could stand for more birthdays to be like this. I mean, nobody got shot and I didn't have to have anything surgically removed from a single one of my orifaces. To me, that means success.

Here's to a healthy and happy year.

-- Jeffy