Did I say she's the Bee's Knees? I meant to say the Cat's Pajamas...

As I wrote in a column last week, I turned 30 last Wednesday. It wasn’t that big of a deal to me and, consequently I wasn’t expecting much of a big deal to be made of it. My girlfriend and I went out to dinner, had a few drinks and she got me some great presents. That was it for Wednesday . By the time I had a few postgame drinks with the guys from my basketball team on Thursday night I pretty much figured the fanfare was over. And I was fine with that. Fast forward to last Saturday. My Dad called me early in the afternoon and asked me if I wanted to grab a few beers during the first half of the Kentucky-LSU game. Never one to turn down football or beer, I gladly accepted. We met up at a local bar and watched what we both guessed (in the middle of the 2^nd quarter) would be a game firmly in LSU’s control by midway through the second half (until UK scored that late first half TD). At halftime, I said goodbye to my Dad and headed home as my girlfriend and I were going to be meeting some friends out for more drinks later in the evening (or so I thought). About five minutes later I turned onto my street to see a line of cars leading up to my house. As I thought to myself, “What the hell is going on?”, I quickly realized that my driveway was filled with over 40 of my friends and family. It seems my girlfriend had planned a surprise party for my birthday. Everyone was there (save for some friends from out of town) old college roommates, my sisters and their kids (and my parents), the guys I play basketball with and a bunch of other friends. It was a pretty humbling experience, to see all these people come out to celebrate my birthday with me. What followed was a full night of great food, better friends and plenty of alcohol. All of which was organized over the better part of two months by my girlfriend. It was, in short, the sweetest, most thoughtful thing that anybody has ever done for me.

I don’t want to bore you with all the details as nobody really cares to hear stories about parties that don’t end in puking, bathroom sex or arrest through the use of a taser. However, it was a fantastic time. As most of the people I know are well aware of my drinking problem, I received an ungodly amount of liquor (seven bottles of Jager for starters) and numerous other thoughtful gifts (Mmmm, cash). Rest assured that my freezer is now fully stocked with all types of sauce for my consumption. Vodka, Rum, Cognac, Jager, Crown, Tequila, etc. Its like looking at my own little ABC every time I open the freezer door.

I can’t even tell you how much fun I had. Hell, it was so much fun that I didn’t even mind the fact that my Dad walked up on a conversation about the enormous bar fight I got into on the night of last year’s Auburn game. I wasn’t exactly jazzed to see my Dad standing behind me as my friend Kurt recounted the tale of me breaking a Heineken bottle over some rednecks head but, what can you do? It’s not like my Dad never got into a bar fight when he was young. At least I hope he did. As you can imagine, being the guest of honor also required me to do a ridiculous number of “birthday shots” with everyone from my oldest sister to my asshole friend who bought me a fake lottery ticket and waited until I was drunk to give it to me. I, of course, fell for the fake lottery ticket and was, momentarily, under the impression I’d won $20,000. (Which would come in awfully handy now that I’ve discovered my car needs $1500 in repairs). The party was a complete success. Everyone had a great time (Even the two pregnant ladies who were undoubtedly the only sober people in attendance.) and LSU and Kentucky even cooperated by supplying the party with, possibly, the game of the year in college football. By the time regulation was nearing an end, nearly every guy at the party was sitting/standing in my living room with their eyes glued to the screen and everyone of those guys were rooting for Kentucky. Of course, Kentucky was victorious and the crowd was in an even better mood than when the night began.

The party would go on for a few more hours and, it seemed, a good time was had by all in attendance, especially me. I discovered that it’s nice to have a big fuss made over you every now and then. I also realized there’s no way in hell that I’ll be able to match the level of time, effort and love that my girlfriend put into celebrating my 30^th birthday. Which, is kind of a pisser since she turns 30 on New Year’s Eve. Short of getting her a guest spot on MTV’s New Year’s Eve celebration broadcast, I’d say I’m pretty much screwed here. I would honestly look into this if it wasn’t for that unfortunate incident back in 1999 when Ed Lover and I got drunk and ended up pissing in the water bottles in Carson Daly’s dressing room.

So, to sum up: Great Party, tremendous friends and a perfect girlfriend. However, lest you think this gesture has made me soft and looking toward marriage anytime in the near future, I direct you to this email I received from my friend Calvin yesterday afternoon:

So my boss offers me one (1) ticket, free of charge, for what could be the series clinching game for the Indians Thursday night. One hang up, its my 4th anniversary. So I turn it down b/c I was trying to not be a dick. So I get home last night and tell my wife that I turned down this ticket so I can spend the evening with her. She asks me why and tells me I'm dumb for turning down a chance to go to the game. This of course leads to me telling her she should show a little gratitude and that the next time I have a conflict like that I'll just take the ticket. I was not too happy.

The moral of the story is that if I had taken the ticket, she would have been pissed and she was trying to be cool after the fact. Women are stupid. Its better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

So there you go. That’s all the encouragement I need to keep living in sin.

One last thing: This will be the last of these “personal life” entries for a while. I’m sure you’re tired of reading them so I’ll get back to writing about booze, sports and poop jokes.