Being newly 21 means many things to me, but I would never have it mean that I'm a bad blogger who shirks her blog for a week! I'm horrified it's taken me this long to fill everyone in on the deetz of my birthday. I'm also betting that since over a week has passed, the shenanigans will end up being decidedly less funny in retrospect. I'll let you be the judge of that.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010: A few hours before midnight, Michelle is gearing up for birthday celebrations galore, which at this point mainly involve heading over to our local watering hole, The Red Herring, at midnight. The Red Herring is staffed by essentially one bartender, Phil (who does all the bartending, cooking, and waiter-ing), and who has since become my new bff...but that's getting ahead of ourselves. After pigging out on onion rings, spicy fries, and regular fries, (and no protein, naturally), I headed to the bar with my friends P., and A. I realize initials are incredibly non-descript, so P. is one of my best female friends from South America, and she's amazing, and A. is one of my good guy friends from the bay area, who sometimes is basically me (pre-law, English major, snarky sense of wit) in a much nerdier Asian boy version (Love).
So, at midnight P. and A. and myself arrive with a flourish of trumpets at the bar, get carded, and sit up at the bar. I stupidly buy my first drink (well, technically L. bought it with the crisp Jackson he slipped me to buy my first drink on him), not realizing that, since it's my birthday, I have a LOT of free drinks coming my way. Phil tries to get me to take a Prairie Fire shot for my first drink (tequila and Tabasco), and P. and A. soon jump on the bandwagon, but I politely decline. I order a Long Island Iced Tea, deciding to essentially just throw a bunch of liquor in a glass and call it a day.
Then free drinks arrive! A fellow Record editor that used to work on the newspaper with me came in, and when she heard it was my birthday she bought me a Hurricane, followed by an Amaretto Sour. Note: THIS IS NOW MY NEW FAVORITE DRINK. I order it everywhere I go. Have you seen those Dissaronno commercials where the girl seductively orders a Dissaronno on the rocks, and the bartender guy with blonde hair and green eyes seductively pours it for her, and then she reaches into her glass (um, put some Purell on those hands, girl!) and takes out an ice cube and, yup, seductively sucks the Dissaronno off it? Well, before I had tried Dissaronno for myself I may have judged these commercials, but IT IS SO GOOD.
Then we got a round of free drinks and at first had no idea where they had come from, but later Phil told us they were from the owner of the local sandwich shop who recognized us as regulars and heard it was my birthday. This is one of the only reasons why you should ever go to a school as small as Williams in a town as small as Williamstown: people know you and, if they like you, they will probably give you free stuff.
Then the night got strange. A herd of football players came in and one guy was proclaiming that it was his birthday. Getting territorial, I announced that it was my birthday, as well. It was discovered that he was turning 22, AND that his birthday was on the 20th. Well, guess what, large running back senior? NO ONE CARES about 22nd birthdays, and it was YESTERDAY anyways, so it's my time to shine! And yes, that is basically what I said to him. Guys, okay, I'm really big into my birthday. In case you couldn't tell. So Running Back Senior decides that I'm super adorable, snarky, and probably buzzed enough for him to hit on at this time, so he attempts to chat me up for a few minutes. I'm all, hey, good to meet you, and then I turn back to P. and A.
THEN, RBS takes my ARM and TURNS me around and says, "Is that it? Are you just done talking to me now?" Okay, another thing you guys should know about me is that I'm super nice, and super-nonconfrontational, and super awkward in situations like this. Which means that I get stuck talking to RBS for a good 45 minutes. P. and A. notice my predicament and, as they told me later, start brainstorming ways to get me out of it. Meanwhile, RBS's friends get bored and decide to leave...but RBS STAYS.
Okay, so here's the deal. I hate those girls that, even if a guy just taps them on the shoulder to get by, are all like OMG I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. However, I also know that it's super awkward to have to wait until the end of the conversation, usually when a guy like RBS is in the midst of inviting them back to someplace or another, and then they have to drop the boyfriend bomb. Ideally, as C. told me later, it has to find its way organically into the conversation, in a seemingly casual place, thereby eliminating any awkwardness.
Well, friends, that did not happen, and after a long and winding talk with RBS about our mutually discovered love for Entourage and both of our secretly harbored dreams to move to LA and become screenwriters, the following conversation ensued:
RBS: So, do you wanna go hang out?
Yours Truly: Oh, I was actually going to head home soon.
RBS: Oh. Well, do you want to hang out before that?
YT: Ummm, well actually I should probably get home to my boyfriend.
RBS: You have a boyfriend.
Long awkward pause. Finally A. brings the cockblock, although just a tad too late, and engages RBS in a conversation about painting, or something.
RBS sits awkwardly, clearly having no other reason to remain at the bar, but not wanting to seem like he was only there to get me to leave with him, which is clearly what was happening anyway.
Phil picks up on the awkwardness (part of why we're now bff's) and engages RBS in a conversation about tennis (it was on tv). Finally, RBS tells me he's heading out.
Me: Okay, well blah blah blah, something about it was great to meet you, see you around, blah blah blah, damage control.
At this point the bar has closed, things have gotten awkward, and A. and P. and I laugh uproariously as we debrief RBS situation. We get ready to go, and Phil asks if I had a good birthday. I say that I did, and ask him to take a picture of the three of us. He has to clean up, but he says that if we'd like, we can go behind the bar and stage some bartending shots.
UM, YES PLEASE! I squealed with delight, ran behind the bar, and bartended the shit out of those bottles. P. and A. alternated posing with me and capturing the beauty of the moment.
And that is the recap of Birthday: the wee morning hours. Stay tuned for Part Two: the afternoon-evening, and Part Three: weekend celebration a day later at home with C. who arrived via train from New York! Oh and Part Four: L. takes me to California as a bday present.
(Told you my birthday was a big deal).