As some of you, or none of you, know, I am from the sewage drain pipe home of the blues, Memphis TN. Most of my fam and friends still live there even though I have been gone for years. So this past weekend as we celebrated our 27th 19th birthday, some of our friends brought us home for the festivities. Here is the 5 edition of my birthday weekend in Mtown.
1) RedBird: You know how it is, you go out of town and you have to see people. Sometimes those people are ones who you would rather not spend your precious few moments on but whatevs, you do it. So while you and your cohorts are preparing for what will either be really pleasant or excruciatingly painful, your buddy decides you need a safe word. No, not the kind that those sicko dominatrix freaks use, but kinda the same concept. You laugh hysterically as you all throw out ideas, maybe steeple, with pointed fingers, here’s the church, here’s the steeple, open the door and run for your life. Or maybe something obtuse, like red bird. You wind up leaving without ever actually choosing one and when you find yourself at the house that boredom built you start to feel like you need a way out. Then, SAVIOR! You look over and see you homie with pointed steeple fingers, could he be as bored as you are? Who cares? Get it goin, so you utter those two words… RED BIRD. You look over to your bestie and start wildly, loudly, repeating those words hoping that she catches on and before you know it the entire room is staring at you wondering why the eff you keep screaming RED BIRD, FOR CHRIST SAKE, RED BIRD! While your bestie finally realizes what you are talking about, you have collapsed into hysterical fits of laughter, joined by your buddy. She finally snaps to and you all start gathering your shit and making excuses about having to pee, or shower, or be anywhere but here. Thank god for code words. And if you’re reading this and recall a certain group of people in your living room laughing and screaming RED BIRD, rest assured, I’m talking about someone else. No, really.
2) What happens on Beale stays on Beale, and the parking Garage, and the scary ass ride home: We knew we didn’t want to go to the world famous Beale street before we went to Memphis, but we did anyway. Damn persuasive friends. Our girl,and co writer Kimmie was gracious enough to inform us of a lil diddy called a “call a cab”, and sweet jesus, we should have. After the three of us, me, Kimmie, and our bestie dude friend, Luke, consumed around eleventy ten of those strong ass drinks it got hairy. We found ourselves standing outside, smoking cigarettes and laughing at all the weird looking people walkin by. Then, golden moments happened. The kind of hilarity that only ensues when one or more people are drunk and not just a little. While standing outside, partaking in sweet cancer, a latino man came and stood by us. A very large latino man. I said someone among us says ” He looks like a Latino Fat Albert”, as if that wasn’t enough…. it was followed by. HOLA HOLA HOLA, es Grande Alberto! OMG. Our buddy Luke swears that the rude comment made by someone who is definitely not me, was heard. The point is, would he have heard it if Kimmie and Luke weren’t doubled over and crying laughing? I think not. It’s all about discretion people. This is clearly all your fault.
3) Don’t make me get a screw driver: So Saturday was the big day. My birthday. We hung out, did some Red Bird type activities, and Saturday night, had quite the shindig at Kimmie’s humble abode. Lots of people came, but more importantly, lots of liquor came. Lots and lots and lots of liquor. Our girl Sarah W., who is apparently a light weight now, came and we were so excited, hadn’t seen her in like 6 years and it was awesome. As the night went on she got more and more drunk. Here is a pic of her and I together, she’s on the right and her face pretty much says it all, and of course, despite my smile, I can promise you, all I’m thinking is, ” uh…. please don’t puke in my hair.” She shortly thereafter, locked herself in Kimmie’s bathroom for a new record of 3 hours! You get the drunkest girl there award! Every time we tried to convince her to open the door she would respond with, inna minute! After 3 hours, Luke threatened her with removing the door knob with a screw driver and suddenly she was motivated to let me in. Then I found her, wasted and half asleep, on the toilet, Elvis style ( like the inadvertent Memphis reference?). After I helped her off to bed so she could sleep it off and we could all pee for god’s sake, we drank lots more and I am ashamed to say, I fell asleep on the couch watching Twilight. Don’t judge me.
4) Is it just me, or is the DD Drunk?: So we’re at my party, it’s good. We’re drunk, as we should be. But…ok, let’s back track for a moment. Have you ever been at a party and had someone invite their friends without really asking you if it was cool? It’s a big no no, don’t be a douche! Truth is you were probably only barely accepted anyway, don’t fuck it up by bringing random people no one but you knows, it’s lamespice.N_E_hoo, such a faux pas was made and one of Luke’s friends thought she should bring a friend to drive her home so that she could fully enjoy the bountiful boos available. Thing is, her DD was drunk on arrival. Not just a little drunk either, the kind that makes you introduce yourself to the same person 17 times in the span of like 5 minutes. Yes, she was that girl. That drunk girl who doesn’t know where she is but knows it’s a good time. The girl who grabs your ass in the midst of someone taking your picture and when you turn around says ” Hey, I’m Heather.” For future reference, if you can’t remember the other 17 times you intro’d yourself, ass grabbing? Not cool. And, this is just a suggestion, you might consider callin a cab, cuz your DD isn’t gonna get you home so much as get you dead.
5) Time to go home, where the shit are my pants?: The good time has come to an end. It’s Sunday morning and I have to get up, pack my crap and head out with Luke so that I can catch a hellhound Grey Hound bus back to the SC. My girl Sarah W. wakes up and the first thing she wants to know are where her pants are, she obviously doesn’t remember me taking them so I could wash em, chunks are so last year. I pack up, and we head out. I know I feel slightly, okay REALLY hung over, and am dreading the thought of an 8 hour bus ride back to my lil hometown. As we wait at Luke’s for the bus he finally gives me my gift. An old used, and kinda musky pillow for the ride home. AWWWW, so thoughtful. Now I can sleep on the bus, or not. People, don’t sleep on the bus. Seriously, don’t. There are all kinds of creepy weirdos waiting for a juicy morsel of normal to fuck with the second you pass out. It’s the thought that counts though right? I hugged him and said thank you, and offered to mail him his pillow back( it really smelled), but he said it was cool. Always lookin out for me. All in all, it was a really good time, lots of boos, laughs, and drunken girls acting accordingly. Love it.