Last night was my birthday party at Papas & Beer. We crammed 21 of my favorite people around one table, then proceeded to eat and drink ungodly quantities. I got really cool presents, including: The Best Apple Spice Cake Evah from City Bakery, The Frequent Fryer’s Cookbook, Betty Crocker’s Slow Cooker Cookbook, a charger for my Wiimotes, a Rosie the Riveter action figure, a special mix cd, Itunes money, and a carabiner with a clock on it. Know how I know I’m gay?

I also got a super cool t-shirt with my face on it from Gourmet Girl and Hidey Ho. I feel a little Perez Hilton-y while wearing it, but it is still awesome. At the end of the dinner, while we were milling around hugging and saying goodbye, some guy at another booth called to the DJ and said I had dropped a note that was on the floor. He was a scruffy redneck type, and he was sitting with two older people that I assumed at the time were his parents. When the DJ picked up the note and we read it, I saw that it had a phone number and the note “Weiner Master” on it.

Does that work? Who does that? Who does that with their parents sitting there? Is he listed in the Yellow Pages under that? Someone should have warned him that I’m blogging this.

We continued to mill and hug, but I moved to the other side of our table while Foxy checked us out. Papas & Beer is awesome in another way besides bean dip: No worries about separate checks.

Foxy got me out to the car with cake and presents in tow and we watched the redneck speed away in his truck. He had modified it with faux smokestacks behind the cab, like a big rig, and underneath his tow hitch hung a shiny pair of silver testicles. I wish I was making this up. So that was the only present I turned down: a fuck from the Wiener Master.