Sixteen, I mean, twenty-one candles

Usually, when I find myself too exhausted to blink on a Sunday night, it’s because I was frantically writing papers or programming all weekend, but I haven’t opened, or for that matter, thought about, a textbook since last Thursday. As some of you know, I turned twenty-one on Saturday, and partied the hardiest that I ever have. Erin asked for an objective story of what happened on that glorious day, but since we don’t have that, I’ll write what I recall.

Friday night I saw Baby, a musical Christina was in, with her dad and Dillon. We were all very impressed, and I managed to fall smack on my face in love with one of the lead roles. After that I hurried to Michele’s apartment for her party, stopping to pick up Alison and friends next door. Eight or nine people crowded into Alison’s boyfriend’s living room. One of them handed me a coffee cup full of Jagermeister, another presented me with a rum and coke, and it was all downhill from there. We got to the party and realized that we’d doubled the size with our arrival, and after a while I noticed zero mixing was taking place, my group distancing themselves from Michele’s friends like the Sharks from the Jets. They left fairly soon afterwards. I did a few Jello shots, drank a few beers, danced my whitest, and at the stroke of midnight was hauled off to the College Inn to complete my primitive, arbitrary coming-of-age ritual.

This is where it gets hazy, but I remember being goaded into pounding a long island iced tea, and watching two full pitchers of beer disappear around the table as we played drinking games. I have no idea how long we were there. Chris and I discussed this today, and we put the figure at around two hours. He was at a similar level on the fubar scale, and he agrees that it seemed like fifteen minutes. We finally left, in quite a hurry, after a glass slipped through my wooden fingers and shattered on the table. I walked Chris home, and made it as far as the staircase on 52nd street before disaster struck. I thought, “I’m kind of tired. I’ll just rest on the top of the stairs for a second.” The next thing I knew, two complete strangers were shaking me awake.

“Are you alright, man?” one asked. They were preppy and looked younger than me, but we were too far east for them to be returning to a frat, so they could have been anyone.

“I’m fine,” I said, but as I tried to stand I reeled in a full circle and almost went ass-over-tea-kettle down the stairs.

“Do you want some help down the stairs?” the other asked me. “Yes.” I’m proud, but I’m not dumb. They put one of my arms around each of their shoulders and essentially carried me all the way down, consoling me with words like “we’ve all been there, man.” The evidence states that I made it back to my apartment afterwards, but I certainly don’t remember the journey. If you’re reading this, guys, God bless you. I’m lucky you weren’t some vengeful hobos brandishing sharpened cot springs.

I woke up to my head in a vise and my stomach in a rock-tumbler, but had to get out of bed to prepare for my family’s arrival. I cleaned the apartment as well as I was able, given the circumstances, and they showed up in three cars, all seven of them, hauling my fantastic birthday surprises.

My apartment is now sweeter than you can imagine, and I’ve got my fine relatives to thank for it. They gave me a new couch, a new recliner, a coffee table, end tables, a gas grill, and a coffee grinder. My living room screams swank, and the back patio, with its complete living-room ensemble, is primed for some very righteous barbeques in short order.

We drove to the Mariners game, ate delicious but overpriced ball park food, drank ridiculously costly ball park beer, lost the game, and came home. I say we, but I’m personally responsible for the loss. The Mariners have lost every game I’ve ever gone to, and it’s probably because I wasn’t thinking enough positive thoughts. On the plus side, I bought a couple of hard lemonades for my sister and I, and the guy didn’t even card me! Ironic that I spend my entire life up until now unsuccessfully trying to avoid revealling my age to get alcohol, and now that I’m legal my previous plans work flawlessly.

Everyone went home except my big sister Jen, who took us to the Ram and then to a drama party Christina told me about. I’ll say this: the drama major comprises the most concentrated cluster of female beauty in the entire university. Every girl there was breathtaking, and I’m pretty sure that’s not just the alcohol and poor lighting talking. We went home at 4am, although the party was by no means over, and found the sweetest gift of all. Earlier in the day, Ashley, Nathan and I were talking about my ideal birthday cake, and I said it would be two snackin cakes, placed one on top of the other, smothered in chocolate frosting. I thought it was just idle chatter, but they pulled through, and the masterpiece was waiting for me on the kitchen table when we stumbled through the door, a sad little stub of candle perched on top. I love my roommates.

I woke up and guided Jen, who has as much directional sense as a blindfolded squirrel, back to I5, and managed to get my article in to Heather on time (ironically, it’s about being late). For those of you who didn’t get me anything (you know who you are), just read it in the Daily tomorrow, and I’ll love you forever, or until I forget to.