Post Birthday Text Exchange (Patreon)

If my math is right, Sam just turned 21. (In the books. In real life he'd be almost in his 30s...and now I feel old.) My math could be wrong, but either way, he just had a birthday, and I figured the day after his 21st would be a fun time.

And by "fun" I mean "terrible" for Sam, but funny for us. Twenty first birthdays, at least in the States, because that's our legal drinking age, are universally terrible. I mean, they're fun at the time, but many of us take it as their first attempt towards getting their stomaches pumped.

My twenty first was actually awful, but not in the usual way. I was still in my hometown which meant my drinking options were a variety of diver bars. Don't get me wrong--I love a good dive bar, but as a special birthday, it was a bit lacking. After I a lengthy argument with my boyfriend at the time as to who would be the designated driver...on my birthday...which was a red flag, really....I ended up in a sort of log cabin type place. 

The nice bartender bought be a birthday shot. Some dude I'd never talked to gave me shit for ordering a raspberry ale. Keep in mind, I grew up drinking beer. This was far from my first. I ordered the raspberry one because it was from a local brewery I liked and I hadn't tried it yet. Also, it was my birthday, my beer, and I don't understand why anyone would feel the need to comment on my choices, especially a stranger. 

So this dude, who looked exactly like the kind of guy you'd picture at a dive bar in a small, blue collar town, said, "You're drinking that? That's a girly beer!"

I was in a bad mood, because *see early argument* and I had never spoken to this man before. It was my stupid birthday. I'm not 100% sure what my tone or face conveyed, but I am positive it wasn't nice. So I told him, "As I am a girl, that makes sense, and also who the fuck are you?"

Probably not smart? The guy was twice my size. But I'm told I'm quite scary when I finally get mad about something, and apparently I was scary enough that this man backed off. I drank my beer and went home. As a birthday, it was severely lacking. About six months later I made up for it by day drinking in a bar with my friend Summer who is a force of nature and learned a very, very good lesson about trying to "keep up" with anyone in a bar, especially Summer, and to always, always check to see if the drinks I'm ordering are singles or doubles. To this day that was the only time I've had to be actually carried out of a bar.

Riding a ferry when you're puking drunk is not a great experience, just FYI. I have never repeated it and I hope I never do.

Other side note to this text exchange--the "Beary Cozy" footie pajames are based on a set of pajamas that my friend Ocean wore to a pajama party my house threw when I was in my twenties. To get the full effect, please now that Ocean was a short, rockabilly/punk type kid, so they looked extra fantastic. He got very sick at this party and ended up puking in our washing machine. He felt very bad about it and cleaned it up, but honestly, that's not a bad place to get sick?

It's amazing any of us survive our 21st year, really.

And with that in mind, here's the text exchange!

Have a good weekend, everybody!

-Lish

Post Birthday Text Exchange

Ramon: How’s your head?

Sam: It’s gone. There’s only pain.

Ramon: I told you not to do that fourth round of shots.

Sam: No you didn’t. You were telling me only a terrible person wastes good tequila and that I couldn’t drink less than the gnomes or you’d all make fun of me.

Ramon: That does sounds more like me.

Sam: You were wrong, anyway.

Ramon: That good people also waste good tequila?

Sam: There is no good tequila. All alcohol comes from the Devil’s armpit and I’m never drinking again.

Ramon: “I’m never drinking again” is such a cliché, Sam.

Sam: You’re not helpful. I’m texting James to see if he has any terrible tasting potions that will make me want to live again.

Ramon: Can’t you just bring yourself back to life?

Sam: You’re not funny and I hate you.

Ramon: I’m hilarious and you love me.

Sam: *groans* Whatever, I’m bringing James into this chat.

*James enters the chat*

Sam: I’m dying.

James: Puny humans can’t hold your liquor. I’ve already prepared you a tray. Have Ramon bring it to you.

Sam: Ramon is going to spit in it.

Ramon: I will not.

Sam: Only because now you know I’m looking for it.

Ramon: Sam, you wound me. James, I got the tray. Where are you by the way?

James: Some idiots got the entire gnome colony drunk last night.

James: You. You’re the idiots.

Sam: I figured.

James: The mess is unspeakable.

Sam: I do not want to know.

Ramon: Ooooh, has anyone checked on Frank?

James: Frank is currently hugging the toilet. Here’s a picture. *sends picture*

Ramon: That’s just mean, James.

Sam: When did Frank get footie pajamas?

James: That is what happens when you fall asleep naked in the lawn, Sam. I get to choose your pajamas.

Ramon: This is not the threat you think it is. I would also like a set of footie pajamas that say “beary cozy” thank you very much.

Sam: Wait, did you just have those on hand? Or did you find Frank naked, and then go buy pajamas somehow?

James: Do you really need to ask that question?

Sam: I forgot who I was talking to. You’re always prepared, like the ultimate boy scout.

Ramon: I’m serious. Can I have my new pajamas now, please? They look super comfortable. I appreciate the back flap. Very practical. Do they have pockets?

Sam: 1) Where is my tray? 2) Where are my pajamas?

James: I did not get you all the same pajamas, and yes, they have pockets.

Ramon: I stopped to get a snack. Chill, Sam. James, can we get matching pajamas for Christmas and do a family photo?

Sam: Yeah! James, you have to wear them, too! And we’ll find tiny ones for the gnomes.

James: No.

Ramon: Awwww, c’mon. *bear cub eyes*

Sam: Shouldn’t that be puppy dog eyes?

Ramon: I’m a bear, not a dog. Therefore, I beg in a cute but manly way, like a bear.

Sam: I’m not even touching that.

Ramon: What if we let you get super posh pajamas with like monogrammed slippers, James?

Sam: And a monocle, maybe holding a pipe.

James: why do you equate a monocle and a pipe with “fancy?”

Ramon: You wear that you’re either a villain, or the Monopoly guy. The Monopoly guy is fancy. You’re not a villain, so…

James: Mr. Peanut also wears a monocle.

Sam: First of all, Mr. Peanut is the head of a multimillion-dollar nut industry, so clearly fancy. Second of all, I also classify him as a villain.

Ramon: That peanut is going to start some shit.

Sam: Thirdly, neither Mr. Peanut nor the Monopoly guy could have made their wealth in totally ethical ways—they’re too high up on the money food chain, so technically they’re both villains.

Ramon: Bit harsh on trademarked characters today, aren’t we?

Sam: I feel like shit, Ramon. Stop fucking around in the kitchen and bring me James’ poisons, please.

Ramon: Well, happy birthday to you, too.

Sam: My last wish is that James gets us all matching pajamas to wear for Christmas. You can’t deny a last wish, James!

James: You’ll be dead. You won’t even be in the picture.

Ramon: Papa Nick can bring him back for the photo. It’ll be great. Very classic Christmas.

James: No.

Sam: Oh, that’s it. I’m bringing in the big guns.

James: Sam…

*Haley enters the chat*

Haley: Matching pajamas would be so cute! I’m in.

James: Haley, be reasonable.

Haley: No. Reasonable is boring. Reasonable doesn’t get matching pajamas!

Ramon: Reasonable is for squares!

Sam: Reasonable left the building the minute we moved in.

James: I can’t argue with that, but I can argue with matching themed pajamas.

Haley: Look, it’s happening, James. The way I see it, you can be gracious, fold to our demands, and get to help pick out the pajamas.

James: I graciously decline.

Haley: OR, you can pout, say no, and we let Sam and Ramon pick out the pajamas. Then you end up in a family photo anyway with everyone wearing fleecy unicorn onesies in various pastel shades. With matching slippers AND mugs.

James: You’re diabolical.

Haley: I’m honest. You know that’s what will happen. Choice is yours.

James: *sighs* Fine.

Ramon: Yay! Thanks, Haley. You’re the best.

Sam: Agreed. James, your potion made my throat dissolve. Is that normal?

James: Yes.

Sam: Did it actually dissolve? Because that’s how it feels.

James: No. It’s still there. A minor side effect.

Sam: Doesn’t feel minor.

James: Compared to what’s to come in the next five minutes, it is.

Sam: Wait, what?!?

Ramon: Should I get him a bucket? That sounds like something that’s going to need a bucket.

James: I would actually just toss him in the shower. That will make everything a lot easier to contain.

Sam: WHAT?!?

James: And get towels. Lots and lots of towels.

Haley: Ramon, I want pictures. Sam, be at Mom’s in thirty for your belated birthday dinner.

Sam: Tell her I need a raincheck. I’m dying and apparently about to explode.

Haley: You’re more than welcome to tell mom you’re not coming to your own birthday dinner, which she made. Which she has been planning for a week. There are two different kinds of birthday pie, Sam.

Sam: Never mind. Ramon, carry my corpse to dinner, please.

Ramon: Can do!

Haley: Good, James, you’re coming, right?

James: Of course.

Sam: Wait, isn’t it a little early for dinner? I just got up.

James: Sam, it’s four in the afternoon.

Sam: Oh.

Ramon: I took Sam’s phone and tossed him in the shower.

Ramon: Wow. That’s just…James, that potion is brutal.

James: That’s just his body purging the toxins. In about five minutes he’ll feel fine.

Ramon: It’s like his pores are vomiting.

Haley: I can’t believe I’m missing this.

Ramon: Oh, I’m recording this. Sam will want to see it as soon as his sense of humor comes back.

Ramon: James, it seems like a lot. I’m not sure he’s going to have organs left.

James: How much did you give him?

Ramon: …the whole bottle.

James: …

James: …

James: You were supposed to give him half. Didn’t you see the note?

Ramon: What note?

James: I’m going to bring more towels. And a counter potion.

Ramon: On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad of a fuck up is this?

James: Can the scale go higher than 10?

Ramon: Well, fuck.

James: It’s okay. I’ll give him the counter potion. He’ll feel absolutely terrible for about ten minutes, drink about a gallon of water, and then his urine will be purple for a week. It’s fine.

Ramon: …

Haley: You do not want purple pee, Ramon, and I will tell Mom you guys might be a few minutes late.

Ramon: You don’t know what’s inside my heart, Haley.

Haley: Yes I do, and it’s not purple pee.

Ramon: At least Sam won’t forget this birthday.

James: But he’ll probably want to.

Ramon: And that’s why I took so many pictures.

*Frank enters the chat*

Frank: When did I get footie pajamas?

Frank: Also, I think I’m dying.

Ramon: James has a potion for you.

END