Adventures in going out, staying in, and acting up
When it comes to birthdays, I believe most people fall into one of two categories: those who celebrate them, and those who don’t. I’m firmly in the latter category. I’ve never been a big fan of tooting my own horn — a statement I’m sure you find hard to believe, considering that I force you folks to read this self-serving crap every other week (and all too often include a photo of myself as well). TOOT! TOOT!
But seriously, I hate being the center of attention. I don’t like causing a scene; I feel badly making people go out of their way for me; and at my sixth birthday party, I punched a little girl in the face for singing “Happy Birthday” to me and then spent the next two hours hiding in my bedroom closet waiting for everyone to go home. Normal, right? Seems I’ve been missing out on my God-given right to enjoy freebie birthday ass ever since I was a little kid. But I turn 39 in four weeks. With the proper employment of Valium and a well-timed whiskey shot, I really think this could be my big break-out year.
Lucky for me, my turning-30 best friend is a celebrator — and a shameless one at that. So this Saturday night, I get to experience all the fun of a full- blown birthday extravaganza with none of that annoying attention. Let’s hope I’m not asked to make a toast. I may soil myself and throw a tantrum.
The event (and yes, it truly is an event) boasts a host-selected Studio 54 theme. I know what you’re thinking. No, my best friend isn’t gay, he’s a woman — I mean, she’s a woman. Sorry if I sound a bit confused, but at this party, gender has taken a backseat to style. Our doormen — er, um, doorwomen — for the evening are two of Boston’s most convincing drag queens who are here both to perform and to determine if guests look good enough to get in. Closest thing I’ve ever had to that at one of my birthday parties was my Aunt Carol. She sort of looks like a drag queen, but I wouldn’t take fashion advice from her. Terrycloth ain’t easy to pull off.
I may not be big on celebrating my birthday, but apparently I’m downright thrilled to celebrate someone else’s. I come to that realization after I catch myself chasing my third shot of Patron with a glass of Champagne handed to me by a leggy model standing near the bar. (Hey, I already told you: the theme of the night is Studio 54. I’m just impressed I still have my pants on.)
The night finally draws to a close, and to say we had a great time would be an understatement. It’s been one of those nights when you’re actually scared of the fact that you know it has to end eventually. The clothes were amazing, the DJs on point, and people were dancing like it was their job. Hell, I was even dancing! At least, I think I was dancing? Then again, I was pretty wasted. Maybe I’m mistaking falling over in the bathroom stall for dancing. Both would be embarrassing, but at least the former would happen in front of fewer people.
So, can I blame my best friend for throwing herself such an opulent birthday bash? How could I possibly? If you can’t celebrate yourself that way, whom can you celebrate? You know, it’s funny — I just partied harder tonight in her honor than I probably have for myself in the past five years combined. That’s going to change. I may not be ready to throw myself a crazy party with hot models, drag queens, and the city’s hottest DJs, but this year I’m going to break out my finest terry-cloth dress shirt and my Aunt Carol and I are gonna tear this town up.
Michael Diskin can be reached at mdiskin@stuffatnight.com.
