I Am Not A Chick For Planning My 26th Birthday Party

Alright, fuck me I guess?

Apparently planning an all day bender for your birthday is now frowned upon and I missed the memo. Call it what you want, but every year I inch closer to 30, and I’m holding on to my youth with every bone in my body. I’m not a “birthday guy” by any means, but I am a party guy. So whether or not it was my birthday, I’d be out day drinking on a Saturday and hitting the town later that night. It just so happens this Saturday has my name on it.

So I did what any loyal employee with a drop of respect and hoping for another month would do, I walked into Big Cat’s office to extend the invite. Not because I expected him to say yes, his old ass isn’t exactly a lock for a Saturday bender, but because it felt right to let him know he’s welcome. That’s it. No pressure. No flyer. No RSVP link. Just a simple, “Yo, I’m getting the boys together for the birthday, feel free to pull up.”

Instead, he hit me with a “0% chance” followed by calling me a “chick” for planning my birthday. And listen, I expected the rejection. That was a layup. But calling me a chick? For what? For organizing a day out with my boys? Since when is it feminine to round up the squad and celebrate with an all gas no breaks, sun up to sun down booze marathon? This isn’t brunch with bottomless mimosas and custom Snapchat filters. It’s not themed. It’s not scheduled down to the minute. It’s just drinking. Like I do every Saturday.

There will come a time when a chill dinner will be enough, and I don’t mind that. I actually enjoy a good dinner. But that time isn’t now. Not when my birthday lands on a weekend. I’m not suddenly switching up the game plan because I was born on that day. If anything, it’s just added fuel for the fire.

Maybe I’ll do a sit down dinner Sunday, sure. That’s still TBD. 

So no, throwing a daylong bender with the boys doesn’t make me a chick. It makes me 20 something and refusing to switch up who I am because there’s more candles on my cake.