Frere turned 23 last week! Happy birthday, Frere!
Apparently, when your little brother enters into his solid 20’s, your own life begins to appear a bit tame. This is disturbing to me because I’m only 25 and I don’t feel tame but when I recount this story for you I fear I will come across as incredibly tame. Especially given my lack of posts the past week. Ish.
After Frere remarked that he has not really celebrated a birthday since his 21st, I invited Frere to come into NYC for a night out. My mental plan, which was formed about a week in advance, involved me taking Frere out to a nice seafood restaurant on Saturday night and then have people over to my apartment for drinks and snacks before going out in my neighborhood.
My mental plan was shot to hell when I forgot to invite people over until two days before the party and when Frere and his friend missed their train and when our backup restaurant turned out to be an abandoned warehouse. But it all turned out ok when we got a nice table at a nice French restaurant two blocks from my apartment and when my homemade buffalo chicken dip melted into gooey heaven and when enough friends showed up that it was a party but it wasn’t too crowded.
And then the fun began. Frere started drinking around 7:30pm, well before I dared venture into an elevated BAC. I know, I’m lame, but I started an hour later when two of our three Quasi Stepsisters arrived. Anyway, the party picked up speed circa 10pm when we blasted music and played card games and sped down the road to blackout city. When it was time to go, Frere, Twin, and I all took a drink with us for the 12 block walk. Twin shoved a beer bottle in her coat pocket, I stealthily carried an almost-empty solo cup, and Frere strutted out the door with his nearly-full solo cup in plain view. As Twin and I hopped in a cab (yes, we’re that lazy), the other drunkards marched toward the bar.
Fast forward about 15 minutes and Frere and co should have arrived. I send him a text asking where they are.
“I got pulled over by NYPD for open container. They’re getting my info.”
Um, I’m sorry, what? You got pulled over on foot? Eight blocks from my apartment? I refrained from freaking out when he walked into the bar a few minutes later, $15 ticket in hand. Not that I’m surprised, but I’ve carried many solo cups and beers and road sodas down the street without ever running into a cop who actually cared enough to pull me over and issue a ticket!
Then Frere went home with Twin’s roommate’s ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.
And then he realized his $15 ticket is actually a court summons.
Now how’s that for a birthday blowout?