Friday was my thirty-first birthday.  I was reminded of this on Friday morning when Elise woke me up by kissing me on the cheek and saying, “Happy birthday!”

It was a regular work day and at 2:51 I found myself on the phone with a client in a conference room.  2:51 was when I was born.

January 26th is a very important day as it the birthday of many other very important people.  For example, Frankie Rayder, apparently a faithful patriot, also turned 31 on Friday.  Film critic Gene Siskel was born on this day.  Bob Uecker and Paul Newman share the day with me.  Ellen DeGeneres, pro-arm wrestler and primary reason why laundry doesn’t get done in our house was also born on the 26th.  And my favorite, Eddie Van Halen.  Since I was ten-years-old I’ve made it a tradition to listen to Van Halen on my birthday.

I hurried home from work on Friday evening.  Mom had come up to spend the weekend with us and she and Elise were making dinner in the kitchen.  After dinner Elise and I drove downtown to see Dave Barry at the Paramount Theater. Dave was funny enough to keep a smile on my face for an hour and a half but Elise and I both left with a feeling that there was something to be desired.

We drove home while listening to Van Halen on the iPod.  When we got home, I opened presents.  Mom got me a Magic Bullet blender that I’m hoping I won’t destroy the first time I use it.  Elise got me Hudson on the Bend’s second cookbook, “Fired Up”, which, I’m hoping, will inspire me to cook again.

After presents we engaged ourselves in one of my favorite conversation pieces: religion.  I’m pretty sure I did a fantastic job of portraying myself as Marilyn Manson to my Mom and wife and I’m almost certain I heard Maly wake up and from her room snicker and say, “Dude, you’re sooo going to hell.”

On Saturday Elise textured our bathroom walls.  Earlier this month we experienced to great joys of stripping wall paper.  If you’re ever in the position where you have to either strip wall paper or play Russian Roulette with a guy named Twitch, choose the latter.

Saturday night we had dinner with our friends at what used to be the Y Bar and Grill in Oak Hill which is now Nunzia’s at the Y which we will probably NEVER patronize again.  We used to love going to the Y which became Nunzia’s, to our dismay on Friday.  Albeit our party was twelve-top but I don’t like 3-hour dinners.  Service was sub par.  They ran out of a wine we all liked.  After we ordered entrees it was brought to our attention that they’d run out of swordfish.  Ten minutes later we were told they’d ran out of halibut.  We were at the restaurant at 6 p.m. and one of the first tables there for dinner service.  The chefs should have a) taken inventory and stocked accordingly for Saturday dinner and b) informed the waitstaff of said inventory.  When we did finally eat, nobody mentioned their meal.  I wanted my friends and family to enjoy our time together but I really wanted them to enjoy their meals.  Nunzia’s didn’t pull it together for me.   I had a great time with everyone last night but I’m pissed at the restaurant.  I want to fire people.

We came home after dinner and put Maly to sleep.  Victor came over for a nightcap and helped me figure out the I-Cat that Jack gave me for my birthday.

After an hour or so Victor left, we all went to bed and I resolved to the fact that I’m now a thirty-something.

2 Replies to “Thirty-one”

  1. bummed to hear Nunzia’s wasn’t very good. We’re big Y fans and were surprised to see it was sold. anyone know why the owners sold it?

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