I have a habit of doing everything “big.” For my bday last year, I figured a way to get a magazine to sponsor my party (shout out to Suzanne and Tamera at Honeymag.com), found a liquor sponsor (shot out to Darrin and “Gold Dresses Yaz” at 1800 Tequila), and co-hosted a party for 200 at a very sexy NYC venue (shot out to Honey). My boy did the fliers (shout out to “Math”), I had a gigantic gold cake for 75 made into the shape of a present (shot out to Heavenly Cakes who made it for 100 by accident) and The Wizard (ie, Nic) turned the private room of an already uber-lush venue into an sparkly, exotic-flower filled masterpiece (no description will do it justice).
Suzanne’s husband and a DJ friend (Parler) spent hours making mix CDs so the aural vibe was right. Of course, a professional photographer (shout out to Mecca) clicked through and every person I’d ever met in the city—(many unexpected) rolled through to give me birthday wishes and greetings (shout out to everyone)! It took a team of friends, extended friends (the gentlemen who carried the big ass cake and placed it in my fridge), pseudo-family, colleagues, and benefactors to make it big and fabulous, just like I like it. And as far as birthdays go, I don’t think it could be topped as the 32-teeth grin on my face in most of the pictures will attest. (As a rule, I don't smile in most pictures. Every once in awhile, someone gets me)
See? Big. I usually can’t think of any other way to do life.
Many months later, one of my besties also turned 28. He’s an over-the-top-per too, but for some reason, he was opting out of a big celebration. At the last minute—ie, 4pm on the day of his birthday—he decides he wants to celebrate finally. I already had after work plans. I dropped them to head over to the Grae’s party at Level V. Sherrod's (relatively) sober when I arrive , which I immediately get to remedying with vodkas and cranberrys. He looks fab, as always, but Patent notices he’s missing a hankercheif from his pocket that would really put the look over the top (we try to flatline, we can’t help ourselves.) Patent pulls the hanky from his own pocket and places it in Sherrod's so his outfit looks complete for the pictures. At some point cake appears, and the ten of us celebrating our boy dig in. We dance, we laugh. We eat, we drink. We move to another venue and another friend (and the night’s promoter- shout out to Stan @ Home) breaks out a bottle. We dance on furniture on a Tuesday night.
It’s a low key affair, pretty much what we do every few Tuesdays for no reason (minus the furniture dancing. That’s for special occasions), but this time we are partying for a cause. Sherrod realizes this and at some point stands on the love seat because he “has an announcement.” (Code phrase for “everyone, shut the fuck up!”) He thanks us for coming. He thought no one would show up and we did (why he thought that baffles me). He tells us what this celebration means to him (I remember exactly what he said, but he made me promise in his speech not to blog it), and in my recollection I swear he got choked up. (He swears he didn’t.) Sherrod then attempts to bear-hug all of us one-by-one. We all had a moment with this emotional fool (said with love) who proclaims that re-doing what we do every few Tuesdays has made this the best birthday ever with minimal flash, no pomp and circumstance.
I had to tell you all that, so you make sense of this:
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