Turning 31 has to be the most anti-climatic birthday in your first three decades of life. I noticed the trend take hold earlier this year as all my other friends hit their 31st.
Last year, you couldn?t swing a dead cat without running into surprise 30th birthday celebrations at random friend?s suburban homes. Mine in particular included a ruse that was thwarted by my boredom.
I ran into surprise guest Clyde hanging out at a downtown bar. He and DT were farking around and didn?t know that I had also dropped by for the same purpose.
Exclamations of ?Holy Shit!? flew around the bar and a fun time was still had by all. If more friends were bored that night, it would have been ?This is your Life? with alcohol.
This year was different. My mind was calm. Peace was in my heart. My future? was still uncertain. Can?t have everything I guess.
Tree-hugging hippie freak
The weekend before my anti-climax, I lost my violence. I rolled over one morning and it wasn?t there.
By ?violence? I don?t mean wandering into errant bars wearing doc martens, or any other brand of shit kickers, looking to bully into fights just for the giggles. I mean that I misplaced my anger, the fire that sits in the pit of your belly just waiting for that last straw to ignite the flames of vengeance.
Vengeance in this case means lots of ranting and bitching to any friend that will listen.
My anger was MIA. Peace ruled in the world of Groonkonia. That calmness brought about interesting debates that I may or may not reflect on in future weeks.
Leave it to two snotty-old patrons at Humphrey?s to be that hate igniting straw. But I?m getting ahead of myself.
Congrats! You?re another year older
The day in question went relatively well. I woke up. I got nothing done. I went to Big Spring Park with 7d, who drove up from that hell-expanse known as Albertville, and we wandered around for a bit while he snapped photos of sleepy Huntsville. It was just your normal calendar day in your average provincial life.
Available friends attended a tasty dinner at Outback that evening. Blooming Onions must be the devil?s recipe ?cause they taste too damn good to be heaven?s creation.
When dinner was done it was decided that we?d go oot and aboot. The roster dropped to DT, Charles, Sean, 7d and I. Despite losing the lady friends, it was like being ?back in the day?.
That was cool.
Some people?s children
I was shooting the shit with Bartender Ryan standing there for all of 2 minutes leaning on one of the chairs when out of the blue some older fellow yanked the chair out from under my arm. There was no, ?excuse me? or any variation of pleasantries exchanged. Just some old fool who thought his shit didn?t stink.
Nothing was said at the time because I wasn?t paying attention to the slight. A fact that I blame on that wretched uber tree-hugging mood I recently adopted or, simply, that I was having too cool a time hanging with my old crowd and couldn?t be bothered with his noise. It took Charles pointing out the incident to bring it to the fore.
I went on a mini-rant(much like this one) and eventually dropped it again because Bartender Blake bought me a birthday beer. It?s funny how the littlest thing or rude action can grate on your nerves if you allow it. That doesn?t matter anymore.
What really matters is I?m back to the average violence allotment for a human my size.
Thank God.
But the night wasn?t over yet.
To be continued with less talk and more photos?
