I’m going to pretend this weekend never happened. Don’t ask me any questions about it. It did not exist.
Day 3 in Ottawa, Ontario – My 23rd Birthday Celebrations
I’m one of the few people remaining in the world who LOVES celebrating their birthday. My God, I just love the attention and well-wishes and free birthday drinks. I milk my birthday for all its worth, because damn do I ever love the fawning and adoration and the one chance to take advantage of everybody without feeling guilty about it.
Avril and I headed to Uncle B’s place to break into their house and use the pool, but just when we had popped open our first beer, Uncle Den showed up to kidnap us! We clambered aboard his jeep, picked up some booze, and headed to his house. And ok – holy shit – BEST POOL EVER. I practically fell over when I saw it. In Newfoundland, where summer only visits for about 4 weeks of the year, it is impossible to own anything so beautiful.
Uncle Den’s partner cooked us hamburgers while we hauled out the floaties and drifted around the pool drinking beer and soaking up the sun. I don’t remember ever feeling so magnificent. Life was good.
But we had bigger plans, oh yes. A bunch of people from home were visiting Ottawa, and so we thought we should round everyone up and head out on the town to celebrate my birthday. I barely know these people but they were amazing. We racked up a $300 bar tab in one hour.
We visited a shady pub called The Royal Oaks, which was filled with pretentious art-fags dressed in costumes and performing live “music.” We had shot after shot of potent alcohol and then decided to get the hell out of there, and wandered over to James’ Street Pub instead. I LOVED that place. I harassed everyone for a fucking birthday tiara so much that the waitress finally made me one. Out of a coffee filter.
What happens when you combine a bunch of rowdy Newfies with endless shots of tequila? They become the loudest, most obnoxious people in the bar. We seriously gave the waitress an incredible tip because of our behaviour. And then it was like we met and surpassed the acceptable level of drunkness, because nobody remembers going home, and I certainly don’t remember what happened next, except there are pictures on my camera of me drinking from a giant beer mug. Oh yeah, and I accidently let ShortSexMachine’s cat out of the house and it ran away for over a week, Avril fell down the stairs and cut her foot (and then bled all over the house), and I lost consciousness.
Hands down best birthday ever.