Yesterday started out like any ordinary day: I woke up resenting the fact that I’m in law school and ultimately tried to numb the pain with alcohol. But unlike most nights, I didn’t fall asleep on the couch watching reality TV.
On February 10th, 2012, we celebrated the birth of a bro: Conor Flahive. Like any good friend, I knew this week was Conor’s birthday.* Those who know Conor know that he is a manchild who appreciates the finer things. He requested that all of his friends and some of his acquaintances take time out of their Friday nights to parade around town just because he was born. Further, he requested bottle service.
I laughed at him. As a joke, I bought him a handle of UV Vodka (Cake-flavored, per hac vice). I made him pick me up at my house because his birthday was already inconveniencing enough. The night started off casually with a viewing of YouTube videos and some informal shots. We took a cab downtown. More drinks, more things about Conor, etc. Then, someone suggested Fluxx.
For those of you who don’t know, Fluxx is the most ridiculous place on Earth. It’s a club that presumably based their music choice and ambience on a Mitsubishi commercial. Naturally, after nine drinks each, we needed to be there. But there was a line.
I don’t even wait in lines at Costco. I strategically time my visits around soccer practices and PTA meetings. So, you can imagine my displeasure at the queue of Wet Seal shoppers anxiously awaiting their entrance into this utopian oligarchy. “Let’s just get bottle service,” I intelligently suggested. One bottle and 14 photos later, it turned out to be a great night. Upon awakening this morning, my boyfriend even remarked, “Conor’s Birthday was the best night of my life.”
Some of you may be familiar with the hit pop artist, Jerimih’s chart-topping single, “Birthday Sex.” You can imagine Conor’s delight. After a few drinks and awkward attempts at dancing, I took a break to enjoy a cigarette. What happened after this is pure hearsay. I repeat, “Pure hearsay.” I’ll provide some background. My boyfriend, Mike, is known for his flirtatious charm adorable looks and great personality. According to Mike, the moment I walked away, three young ladies approached him. The leader of the pack asked him to dance. Like a loyal boyfriend should, he responded awkwardly, “Ihaveagirlfriend.” Mike tells me that he contemplated stringing the girls along so they were still there upon my return. You read that right; he considered keeping these girls around as evidence of the encounter. He alleges that this morally intact smokeshow continued soliciting him. Should this story turn out to be true, I have to say that although this girl showed blatant disregard for the sanctity of my relationship, she has good taste.
Back to Conor. I have at least three photos proving that he was a happy camper. He had so many admirers that he kept saying, "I'll meet up with you guys later!" as if he was being pulled in a million different directions. He also rhetorically questioned us several times, "Isn't Fluxx the best?" Conor makes everyone happy with his congeniality and charm. I consider myself to be of the utilitarian mindset, so I’d like to say I made a good investment. At one point, Conor asked the waitress if she gets hit on a lot. He then proceeded to hit on her.
Last night was like a movie starring Seth Green. And I enjoyed every moment of it. There were seven of us. Seven people who initially shared nothing more than a mutual love for Conor and borderline alcoholism. No one was opposed to making whimsical decisions, dancing like only NBA dancers should, and we weren’t competing for objects of affection. We danced. We laughed. We consumed way too much vodka. But isn’t that what birthdays are all about? In the end, I’m thankful for the damage I did to my organs last night, because nothing says “I value your friendship,” quite like overpriced distilled potatoes and block rockin’ beats. This one’s for you, Conor.
*I knew it because he told me on Wednesday.