August 22 (birthday Sunday): X=Why? It's my birthday! And I am officially old! I feel like I have resigned to being 28 for the past six months now but now it is officially here. I am also at the age now where birthdays are now as welcome as a vegan at a barbecue.
I wake up feeling low, I don't know exactly why there are really many reasons that could/might be contributing to this. For me, birthdays are nearly always black tie days and, with the exception of last year, generally are 100% sombre affairs.
At 8.56 Mark texts and it officially the first person to wish me happy birthday (yes, I am fickle enough to notice and note this down. Points scored by Mark!). At 9.42, while I am watching my Relic Hunter DVD before heading off home Stevo phones up and wishes me a happy birthday. He then proceeds to tell me how he was jumped on and beaten up by three youths in Chelmsford last night on his way back from football. He keeps saying that it was unprovoked but I know and he even provokes me when he is pissed, mainly down to his behaviour. Still, he sounds pretty shaken up and badly done. That said though, when the phonecall ends and he has obviously run out of credit on his mobile, I am in insensitive prick enough to not bother to phone him back and double check that he is all right. Hey, it’s my birthday and I'll act like a cunt if I want to. I do however get a couple of pangs guilt for five minutes as I wonder would it have happened had I hung out with him in London last night after Phoebe? Would it have happened had I told him about the set up with Rachel Friday and he would not have felt the desire/need to do his ritual of going to football and drink all day and get pissed?
Fortunately my train of thought gets disrupted when Phoebe texts at 10.33 with "Happy birthday to u, happy birthday to u, happy birthday dear jason! Happy birthday to u! Wishing u the best bday! Luv Phoebe". I really DO like this girl.
I spend the remainder of the morning on MSN with Sara. She fakes forgetting it’s my birthday but a convincing amount of time but eventually comes through with the goods for me. Love ya babe. While talking to her I watch the new Championship Sunday morning football show on ITV. It is SO much better than MOTD and not just because it has Millwall on it. I do however see Danny Dichio's winner against Coventry and it warms my heart, its seems Millwall were unlikely not to have won by 2 or 3.
Before leaving for my parents I am determined to finally find the ownership documents for my ratty old red Escort (the WOW mobile) which is still dumped at my parents' house being an eyesore, yes Jason Graham is still a two car man. Joy of joys, I actually do manage to find the logbook for the car. I also find my old butt plug but that is beside the point. Good news, I can now scrap that old fucking heap legally. Anyone wanna buy a 1994 Escort for nothing? It’s been on tour with Idlewild!
The day runs eternally slow but eventually I manage to get home to my olds. For my birthday they have bought me a big television as a present but they can't afford this! Especially in the light of this six grand hanging over their heads. Still, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I am so flawed. Oh the joys/benefits of being an only child, hey kids get my ethics.
As I come to the computer, I come across a shop advert dad has made for himself, advertising himself as a handyman but it says "No Job To Small". I read it and it felt like someone had punched me. Dire straits? The grammar killed me, how does go about correcting the spelling of their Father?
My parents procrastinate about going out for dinner/lunch. One says they want to when they don't really want to while the other says they don't want to while they really do want to. And I'm stuck in the middle, the bottom rung on the three person dynamic that appears to be dictating my life (according to the good doctor). As soon as I sway the answer to "yes" to going out for lunch, our next problem is choosing where to go. Personally I don't care, I am fucking starving and will eat anything, it just needs to be fast and a large portion. We wind up going to the Brewsters in Weeley, which is a thoroughly horrible place to eat in honesty. It seems I have been eating out too much as of late and I may have become a little snobby with it meaning eating out in a place like this is no longer some kind of treat or event (especially when compared to the Dim Sum yesterday). In one way or another, all three of us have chicken in different forms. I tear through my food really quickly, this was not the large portion I was hoping for. Meanwhile however, mum is barely picking at her dinner and dad is moaning like fuck about the blandness of his roast. I sigh, pity them and proceed to dig in, probably eating a half each of their respective dishes; no wonder I am fat! We drag lunch out with some conversation but currently with all their woes hanging over their heads, mum and dad are very bleak about things. And bleak enough not to even bother with desert (dad does have a Stella though, the ultimate sign that we are related). While we are eating I swear blind that I see Peter, my old best friend from school who I turned on like a heal wrestler, leaving after lunching with his parents also. He looks a pretty pathetic sight and I wonder if I look that sad also. Fortunately, I doubt it, my disposition is too sneering to be so cheesy. We leave Brewsters not before time and promptly head to the McDonalds next door to get McFlurrys for desert. If anyone saw us leaving Brewsters and going straight to McDonalds, they would think we were utter pigs. Actually, one of our Brewsters waitresses does. Oh my, the Weeley McDonalds is also horrific, this must be the most neglected "restaurant" of the chain in England. We start out eating our McFlurrys outside but promptly get attacked by a hundred wasps coming over from the super spilled bin outside. The three of us wind up sitting in my car eating our McFlurrys like losers watching the Clacton Chavs come and go, getting their own Mickey Ds. Once we are done, dad is still moaning like the grumpy old fucker that he is. McDonalds disgusts him and in his ultimate goober moment he takes pleasure in just throwing the empty McFlurry cartons all over the McDonalds car park.
For the record, apparently it turns out that I was born at 4.20 on 22 August 1976.
We get back home to my olds where me and dad watch Arsenal vs Middlesborough on Sky. Arsenal do take the lead but fantastically, the ultimate birthday treat, Middlesborough take the lead and at one point are winning 3-1. Arsenal are and have always been utter scum and to see them suffering so badly is a treat beyond treat. And a lot of it is to blame for their atrocious goalkeeper Lehman. This is odd, as at the same time Millwall have one of Arsenal's reserve keepers Graham Stack on loan playing really well. I suspect he may be returning to the Gunners soon. Spoken too soon though as Arsenal come back amazingly and win 5-3. They may be shits full stop but they are also a phenomenal team.
While at home, I check my parents' computer and do one of my regular Panda online virus checks. It discovers over 60 viruses on their computer! And it is having a hard time in wiping them off. Originally I had planned to get home this evening to hang out with Mark for a bit but I end up staying around my parents until past ten trying to remove all the viruses off their computer, which I manage to do at the third go.
At nearly 9pm I receive a text message from Phoebe "Hey hope u r still enjoying ur bday! I had the most fun in weeks yesterday! U r just great! Nite nite". Nice.
When I finally get home, Chris hits me on MSN wishing me a happy birthday. He the man, I really thought he had forgotten. It turns out to be the first time in weeks I have spoke to him and it’s really nice to catch up (birthday treat almost). Halfway through, Tom turns up drunk (on a Sunday night!) grumbling to Chris "he didn't fucking remember my birthday". Nice.
The night ends.
What's the deal with my birthday? Last year it was the day that Wesley Willis died and now this year it is the day that the famous painting The Scream gets stolen. Bad news.
np: MC5 - Kick Out The Jams
