The Chaotic Ramblings of an Esoteric Birthday Fool

Last night was SWC regular River's birthday party. I met up with him and a crew of his friends and family to tear up Oak Park Avenue, and I have to say I had one of the best nights out in quite some time.

When I arrived at Hollstein's, I found River holding court out in the beer garden. After making some introductions, he and I shot the shit for a few minutes, catching up in the real world. In the five or so minutes we were chatting, no less than three shots were delivered to him by well-wishers (or were they death-wishers?). Like a champ, he toasted and tossed 'em back with aplomb.

At first, I sort of hung back and fiddled with my CrackBerry because I didn't know anyone. I figured eventually I'd see people I knew or would strike up conversation with others from the party. One nice girl saw me Crackin' and invited me to join her table, which was very sweet. Soon the party moved in to the bar where the lame-ass Friday night band was "entertaining" the crowd.

That's when things started picking up. I met his cousin White Chocolate and his girlfriend, Double N. She rocked. We pointed and laughed at the band. Then his friend K9 regaled me with some hilarious stories. When I complimented River on his nice friends, he bellowed, "They're douche bags! Douche bags, every single one of 'em!"

The party went back outside, where things at Hollstein's started getting a little crazy. The average age suddenly dropped down to about twenty-two. River consumed more shots. And then a few more. Cops showed up, which is never a good sign, and we all went across the street to Teehan's.

Teehan's. Where all of the suburban hipsters go to slum. It was silly. Again with the average age of twenty-two. John Mayer was there, or, well, maybe his clone. Or his biggest fan, I don't know. Oh, and Pete Wentz. I was like, "Hey, dude. Lemme bum some eyeliner!" Actually, as we entered the bar, I yelled to our party (average age thirty-two), "Ok, everyone--pop your collars! Kanye is spoken here." Some guy asked me, "Like, what's your problem?" I looked at him blankly and said, "Uh. I'm intoxicated." He high-fived me.

We stayed in there long enough for River to down a pint of Jack and Diet. We collected a handful of people and went up the street to Durbin's, average age twenty-one (a twenty year old was having her birthday party there. Underage drinking! Underage drinking!).

Amidst the sonic stylings of Justin Timberlake and things that sounded like, "Ntz! Ntz! Whoo! Whoo!", River's brother G and I looked high and low for our homey in the crowded, epileptic unfriendly environment. We finally found him in the corner with Double N and a pitcher of water. Our friend River began to overflow his banks. The alcohol was rapidly catching up to him and coming out of his every pore. I have photographic evidence of him taking a nappy-poo at the table, but I shall not publish it.

At one point, I dumped out the pitcher of water and held it in front of his face waiting for the return of his birthday offerings, but he's a big boy, and he didn't puke in public. River, it was an impressive show. He was taken home in a blaze of glory. I bet ten thousand dollars he's not feeling well today.

It was a fabulously fun evening. I met some great new people--River, your family and friends are super cool. Thanks for inviting me along! And I got to see some old friends, as is wont to happen when I visit the Tinley Park bars.