It is 3:55 am in Lansing, Michigan. Correction, East Lansing. My birthday technically ended at midnight, but who's counting? We went to a local brewpub for dinner. It was one of those big brick walled college type places. There was a big game today and everyone was wearing green and silver mardi gras beads. There was a drunken full grown man wearing a red pigtailed wig, like the ones they wear in the Wendys commercials.
Seriously. He was engaged in a very earnest conversation wearing that fucking wig. He kept it on the entire time we were there which was about two hours. After we gorged ourselves on mediocre wings and ribs and pork sausage and calamari (basically any apps they could defrost and toss in a deep fat fryer and then tag a $7 price onto we ordered) an 80s cover band took the stage. There was a chubby faced Jew who looked like the bastard cousin of Zach Braff wearing a white blazer, white headband, anda turquoise tshirt and an awkward blonde in fishnets who warbled through the worst versions of "Like a Virgin" and "Heart of Glass" I have ever heard on vocals backed up by some similarly ridiculously costumed musical theater rejects. The brewpub quickly transformed into the Worst Place Ever. The crowd got crazily into the covers dancing the way only white collegiates wearing Mardi Gras beads can. I'm talking step touch hands in the air herky jerky retardation.
In the bathroom Glen overheard this gem, "Yeah, I dunno if I should fuck her. I mean she does have great hooters but she's dumb as shit."
I have been awake for nearly 24 hours and have been sitting in the East Lansing American Apparel for the past five hours while the dudes paint the walls and do some serious power tooling. Happy birthday to me. And trust me, I don't lie when I say this has been a good one.