One day in and still getting used to it
So, there it was, staring at me from my MySpace.com profile; 40. A milestone age or so they say. Am I supposed to feel different? I still feel like the same mixed-up guy I was at 20. Oh sure, now it may take me a little longer to recover from a night of partying. But in the grand scheme of life, I still don’t have a clue. Women confuse me, money eludes me and procrastination still rules me.
One thing that is always good about a birthday is the party. Or in my case, two parties. Yeah that’s right. I’m not too proud to say that the celebration of my coming into this world warranted two separate parties. OK to be honest it was because my NYC friends would not go to Hoboken and vice-versa.
Round #1 [September 7th Pre-Birthday Bash]
I started out meeting a whole bunch of friends at Rudy’s Bar & Grill (627 9th Ave., NYC) for cheap booze and free hot dogs. Rudy’s is a classic NYC dive with its duct taped seats inside questionably sturdy wooden booths, unfinished floors, pungent toilets and a run-down backyard area for smokers. And when I say cheap booze, I mean it. The most expensive beer on tap is only $4.00.
Not too long after arriving, friends began to load me up with natal cheer. Never less than two Jack & Cokes waiting on the bar. The prices and bar staff made this a very easy task so I was on my way to oblivion right from the start. As more people rolled in, the blurrier the night became. Oh but I was having fun. Seeing faces I had not seen in a while and generally spending time with people I adore.
At a certain point, I felt like getting one of those free hot dogs. Instead, I found myself walking outside to go to another bar with several people. There was my friend Helen, her friend Joanne and to guys I had just met named Giovanni and Jose. Helen told me she’s go to Papaya Dog (Corner of 42nd & 9th) and get me hot dogs. I thought, “OK then.”
As Helen went to get the food, the rest of us ended up at a place called Chez Josephine (414 W. 42nd St, NYC). It’s a quaint French bistro looking place that, for some odd reason, brags about its two-star rating from the NY Times. At this point, Joanne and I decided to take a break from booze and got some water. After some time had past, we all started to wonder what happened to Helen and the hotdogs.
Joanne and I walked over to Papaya Dog and there was Helen holding a crumpled up empty bag, chatting it up with some bald dude. Apparently she was so engrossed in her conversation that she actually ate the hot dogs she had gotten for me. I would later find out that this guy claimed to be a porn star and carried pictures of his own penis around on his phone.
This where things get a little fuzzy for me. I know we went back into Chez Josephine, but soon after all of us but Helen were on our way to The Mean Fiddler (266 West 47 St, NYC). I had never been there, but by its name I just knew it would be my kinda place. Sure enough it’s a large but friendly looking Irish pub. But wait there’s something askew. I feel this thumping and hear these weird noises. Dance music?
I see these drunk guys in suits with too much cologne hitting on women with big hair. Where am I? Is this the Irish Twilight Zone? Ok, ok … get yourself together man. Order a drink, yeah … that’ll do the trick. Sure enough as I relaxed with a cold beer and soaked in the comedy of awkward pickup lines going on around me, I came down from my slightly stress-filledl bewilderment. Joanne and the boys were enjoying themselves on the dance floor. It was a fun way to end the night.
More fuzziness as I get to the Port Authority, buy my ticket, scramble to the basement and get on the bus. Once in Hoboken—and don’t ask how I remembered to signal for the stop—I stumble toward my house. Pulling up on the corner of Bloomfield and Eleventh streets were Nelson and Joe Pla of the band clueLess. I told them how drunk I was while a livery car from NYC with a pathetically broken horn tried to beep at us in anger. It just made me laugh.
Round #2 [September 9th – My Actual Birthday]
This was Hoboken night and where else would I go but Louise & Jerry’s (329 Washington St, Hoboken)? More cheap booze but this time coupled with the best damned jukebox in town. Plus several of my Hoboken pals that could not—or would not—make it into the city were there. And to my delight, Helen was here for Round #2 once again telling everyone she’s my wife.
Did I mention that before? For the past few weeks—ever since running into a nine-fingered Tibetan man at karaoke—she’s been telling everyone we’re married. Not that I mind. I love it because … well … I mean … I should be so lucky. Of course later in the night she would introduce me as her husband to another guy she called her husband. This started our Reverse Mormon religious status.
Back at the bar it was myself, Helen, my buddy Mitch and Nelson of clueLess huddled in a corner talking about who knows what. From time to time I’d pop out for a smoke or to go chat with some other friends in the bar. At one point Yvonne was going around taking McDonald orders and got me a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. I called it the perfect birthday cake.
The bar was unusually crowded. In fact, Hoboken was unusually crowded. I think it was because of the annual Italian Festival and that it was a near perfect night weather-wise. Whatever the reason, we decided to move on because it was also getting very warm. Helen and I had discussed going to The Cage (32 Newark St., Hoboken) to visit her ‘other’ husband Jeff who was tending bar. The fact that it is a gay bar turned off Nelson and Mitch who, after a slice of pizza, could not be convinced of the fun potential. They went home.
During our attempts to get the boys to stay out, my friend Mary was calling. She had gotten to Louise and Jerry’s just minutes after we left. A few calls and drunken text messages from me she was able to find us at The Cage where I felt like a bona fide tease, being hit on left and right by a couple of pretty cute guys. Too bad I’m not gay. I mean, I never get hit on by women.
When asked why a straight guy would be in a gay bar my answer was simply because I go where the fun is; which is usually wherever my adorable Chinese wife tells me to go. Helen and Mary’s treat was the stripper in the mesh thong on the bar. Helen was amazed at just how many guys would dingle his dangle when they tipped him. She also confessed that he was scaring her just a little.
My attention was turned to making sure this buff guy didn’t step on my cupcake as he walked by the cash register. No, that was not a series of lame innuendos. Mary had gotten me a yummy looking cupcake that was sitting on the bar when the ‘show’ came my way. Keeping it safe was not so easy since I had to lean back a bit to avoid the dangle. Yes boys, it was quite a dangle. But thankfully my snack food was safe. Aside from Helen and me sampling some of the frosting, I saved it for the cupcake next day. It was delicious.
After some more laughter and politely turning down another flattering flirtation, Mary wanted to stop in by Scotland Yard (72 Hudson St). It took some explaining that after 2:00 AM, if you’re not in a bar in Hoboken, you’re not getting in. It’s been a law for quite some time. Finally Jeff had to confirm it before Mary believed me. So now it was time to go home. Helen, who had but a couple of drinks all night offered to drive Mary and me back up town.
Mary, playing the part of my side dish mistress for the evening, wanted pizza. So Helen dropped us in front of Molfetta’s and I sent her home like any good cheating husband should (oh if only this scenario were real). The plan was to get a slice, something non-alcoholic to drink and settle in for a little late-night cooking shows. Sadly, after the four story walk up to her apartment, we found that the cable was not working. So we chatted a bit about how unreliable the cable company can be and the ins and outs of work.
Then I was off. Back home to revel in my turning the big 4-Ouch. Actually this is not so bad because simply put, I cannot believe it. I am still the same 21 year old immature child I was way back when. I’m as confused and stressed about life as ever. Procrastination and fear still rule my decisions. But there is a ray of hope this year that I have not felt. My friend Meghann has told me every year for the last three, “This is your year Stephen!” This time though, I think she’s really on to something.
No matter what comes of 2006 or turning 40 or whatever, one thing is certain. I have purposely tossed my world into total chaos. I’ve derailed myself from whatever rut I was in. Good, bad or whatever the result I know one thing is for sure. This will be a year to remember.
See Also:
Rudy’s Review on Shecky’s
Chez Josephine
The Mean Fiddler
Louise & Jerry’s
The Cage
Scotland Yard
