The Happiest Birthday

Dear Diary, this week I have had the most exciting and eventful week EVER! By golly, so many things have happened, unexpected surprises, fun gatherings, laughs, and many memories. That's right, Diary, My Birthday Week has surpassed all expectation. Wistful Sigh.

Ha.

On Tuesday I woke up and wandered hazily through the hallway at Station 59, into the kitchen (kitchen?) area and stuck my water bottle under the tap. As I turned it on I remarked to the ever-present and always half-asleep Jake lying sprawled and homeless on the couch, “dude what the fuck is that smell in here? It's not bad, but it's like... not good either.” It kind of reminded me of cheese?
“I don't know what you're talking about bro.” He replied from a dream before rolling back over and continuing his care-free existence. I love that guy, the guy who always seems to be there, always hanging around, somehow managing to cling on to a life that exists behind the closed doors of possibility. Where are your clothes? Where are your belongings? Where do you keep your toothbrush?

Tuesday night at the Rochester for my birthday was one of our best nights yet, Mitch crushed it as MC, heaps of crew turned out, and I had more fun on stage than I've had recently doing twenty minutes as the headliner. And then we got drunk. Before the show Luka and I went to a shaving store where he bought me my birthday present: a $40 shaver – FOR MY FACE AND SHIT – and when we got to the Rochy I went upstairs to the disused bathroom to give it a spin. It was great. You should all touch my face.

The thing about getting drunk is that you wake up hungover, the world is dulled, and you notice nothing, mind numb on the plod to the nearest water source. Stumbling like a dying camel through desert. In the middle of summer the heat makes you feel alone. It's stuffy. Jake was there again on Wednesday, and again on Wednesday I could smell something thick, heavy, hanging in the air.

That night Corey White – just having moved down from Brisbane – came with us to the Great Britain Hotel open mic and met a beautiful lady who he fell so madly in love with that he proclaimed to the world out Luka's back window: “I want to suck her ankles!” She played mournful piano tunes with singing and everyone felt her magic. Before that Corey had bought me a 30c cone from McDonalds, and afterwards Luka dropped me off at the office I clean every Wednesday night. On the walk home I walked past the brothel that I can always tell is open during the night because of the dim and otherwise-superfluous red light that stands out from the bored Collingwood back streets filled with warehouse windows, red brick, and shatter-proof glass.

Thursday was a journey through the city in a day containing rising waves of visible heat and my exodus from a home that continued to emit some random odour – it must be seeping out from the walls. No Jake today to bounce ideas off of. Then Friday we went to Doug Gordon's BBQ and tried to make cigarettes out of the tobacco that a friend of a friend of a friend (NO LEGAL CULPABILITY) saw fall (made grow) off the back of a truck (in his backyard). Apparently it's super illegal, but I can't really see why because even after two or three weeks drying the stuff out it didn't taste much different – maybe a little like a cigar – and definitely wasn't the hit of the party it had the potential to be. Doug's table setup was toppled by a drunken Dick Wakefield, and we left to go home but stopped off at Mentone Beach to have a swim and ended up five guys dipping skinny in the moonlit water throwing a frisbee. That is not a euphemism... well, maybe 'dipping skinny' is, or a metaphor, or whatever, but I'll tell you now. We are DEFINITELY not gay.

But I challenge anyone to have a more hilarious time with four mates and no women than swimming naked at the beach at night. The gauntlet has been thrown down.

Saturday night at the drive-in cinema Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit was playing, and even though it seemed like it was going to be an absolutely terrible movie, it defied all expectations and was merely awful instead. We found out that Rob doesn't know how to do a cartwheel and Tamara and I talked about maybe moving in together in May this year if we can find a cheap place but I didn't want to think about money. Of the forty dollars worth of cheese, meats, and crackers that Luka and I bought for that evening, half of it is still sitting in his car days later, probably rotting, and definitely foul. That's funny to me for some reason.

On Sunday I had the best night of all after working all day as a promo guy dressed up as a pretend paramedic trying to administer Oak flavoured milks to people at the St Kilda Festival who we deemed to be suffering from 'hungrythirsty'. We did a bunch of high-energy act-outs that I'll proably include in my audition tape for Play School, and I drank a lot of chocolate, ice coffee, strawberry, and the new flavour whose name I forget. Fuck Vanilla. That night I called up a lovely lady and we had a fantastic evening drinking while drinking for and subsequently dancing to Art vs Science – a band who I have heard are phenomenal live but have missed twice in the past. They didn't disappoint and at the peak of the performance, some guy managed to stand up in the crowd with his feet at everyone else's head-level and flash his wang to the band, what a genius. Seriously. That is absolutely fantastic. After the show we had more drinks, danced to a great DJ playing current club bangers, and then made our way to some random pub somewhere, watched a great band, and I managed to get up on stage and rap. Fuck yes. Fuck yes. Fucking what? What was that night? What were the last seven days? How fucking good is my life right now?

Sitting in a chair at my parents' house with a tissue stuffed up my left nostril because I tried to pick it forgetting that my blood gets thin in hot weather, I can't help but be a little impressed with what I've managed to do with myself in the days since I turned twenty-three. I haven't even stopped to say Happy Birthday to my smiling face in the mirror yet, not that I've ever done that before, but maybe I should. Maybe that's something I need to start doing, just a little congratulations for making it through another year. Don't laugh, and don't begrudge me this small pleasure, I think I'm being serious... okay, I'm about to go do it.

Oh, and I hope you're all doing well too.

Peace, Taco.