It’s my birthday this weekend. I’ll be 31, which is pretty uninteresting. I’m always baffled as to what to do with my birthday. If you tell people it’s your birthday, you run the risk of being one of THOSE people. You know, those people that make their own birthdays a huge deal. I fucking hate people like that. It’s usually a chick. And she usually rents out a room for herself at some tiny bar in an inconvenient, shitty section of town and makes you come pay homage. Only there’s no open bar, and they only have Heineken (and it’s $10), and none of the chairs have proper lumbar support. Annoying.
But, if you don’t tell people it’s your birthday, then they get strangely pissed. “Shit man, it was your birthday? I could have made a token gesture of niceness to you in the hopes that you would reciprocate to me on my birthday! Fucker.” And people at work get super annoyed. “Hey, we could have had CAKE, asshole.” So there’s that.
I also fuck up my presents every year. My wife asks me what I want, and my brain comes to a dead stop. I know there’s SOMETHING I want. I just can’t get it to show up in my head at crunch time. So I end up getting a shirt. Only five weeks later will I remember, “FUCK! I wanted noise-canceling headphones!” Same thing happens at Christmas. I should write more things down. But I DID manage to get my wife to switch from watching “Grey’s Anatomy” on Thursday nights to watching “The Office”. So that’s a present of sorts. And no, I don’t have a DVR. Go fuck yourself.
When I was a kid, my mom would always bake me a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and candy corns on top for my birthday. It was kind of a tradition, one that my wife has happily continued throughout this 31-year extended childhood of mine. But this year, Mrs. Drew had other ideas.
Mrs. Drew: Can we have something else besides that candy corn cake this year?
Me: Fuck you.
Mrs. Drew: C’mon. Live a little.
Me: If you don’t like the candy corns, get a chocolate cake, and a separate bag of candy corns, and then I will sprinkle candy corns on my own piece. And then everyone will be happy. Especially me. Because I rule.
Mrs. Drew: Oh, for fuck’s sake.
That’s the key to a good marriage, kids. Compromise. Maybe the Cutlers could learn a thing or two from me and my old lady. Your Meast of the Week is Osi Umenyiora of the Giants.
Six sacks? Well, that makes my selection process easier. I think Winston Justice should be nicknamed EZ Pass.