Richard Nixon had his „enemy list“, Mother Teresa had one, and now – after my 57th birthday – I have one too. In alphabetical order there are all my friends on it, friends, who failed totally and completely. All I wanted was a tiny little, simple gift: nothing more than a 15m high gilded statue of my own (pointing with the finger down on scum and lowlifes).
But in fact, I am the failure, I thanked none of them for being there, making the night so special. I didn´t thank for all the helping hands, didn´t thank for drinking all my coffee, beer and even the water from the bird bath.
ForeplayWhen I moved to L.E. years before, I missed my friends desperately. I wanted to have them around. I will have a huge party for them (meaning dnb-party not birthday-party, stupid!) I wanted Giana Brotherz and Santorin to play and a shuttle bus for all my DD-friends, and promotion and cocaine! I thought it would take till my 25th birthday to raise the money and stuff. Well, in the end and in realita I didn´t wanted to “celebrate” anymore, but I had no choice.
I came to Radeberg on a Tuesday.
I wanted to meet a close friend the next afternoon, at one of the local bakeries, famous for its cakes. We had our cake, some chat, but nothing serious. We sat later in the most beautiful light next to our local church in Radeberg.
We decided to go out the next day. We met at the Wohnzimmer, where “Ladies Night” took place – good hell! ”Ladies Night” sounds a lot better than it is; in fact there are only fat, post or wannabe pregnant women with a desire for fruit-juice and tea. But thanks to my gender and my 20 inch penis, the barmaid came to me and asked for my help (not including my penis). “Ich hab´ dich als kräftigen Mann auserkoren.” Great! I always thought, this would be obvious... and now she has to think about, and choose (between me and some adipose, coach-towing lesbian, maybe). It was some kind of
“Please-can-you-open-this-glass-for-silly-weak-old-me-pleazzzzze?”-kind of task. But on the bright sight, I was more charming to her than I thought, and so I could drink for free.
Free alcohol – one goal less in life.
Hence I planned to have maybe two quick cocktails and then go home - it wasn´t up to me. So we ended up attending two vernisages of two boring art exhibitions “crowded” by unemployed thirty-somethings. I don´t know, I was never able to blend in with people like that. They are bad-smelling, unshaved autists, smoking cheap tobacco and talking weird stuff. I have more experience in this area than I wish I had; but I think 9 out of ten only pretend to be an artist or even connoisseurs, they are just aufschneider… And most of all I have no idea about art. There is art that pleases me and that´s it. Maybe one needs a soul to understand and love art.
Keen on leaving that ugly scenery and keen on discovering new clubs and bars, T. took me to a place called Leika – like the dog the soviets once shot into space. There we had first wine, and later – by accident – wine-soda. Eventually she missed her train. So I had to walk her to the tram.
The next day, I drove with M. to Leipzig. She had an appointment there. She made a second place in a contest for a fishermen´s club logo and was invited to the celebration. Despite of a Navi, she wanted my help to find through the city. In the morning, M. asked me what to wear, and – shit – I recommended what I liked. I won.
We were way too early, so I decided to get her a piccolo of sparkling wine, so that she is at ease. But we ended up with a full-size bottle of cheapest sparkling wine and had it next to a railway. After finishing our “lunch” we went to that club… and no one had really thought she would show up.
All these old creeps were stunned by her appearance. Gee, their wives must have had the night of their lifes. Noone there was in charge about the decision so they told her, and in the end, the aroused bastards doubled her money.
We had some more sparkling wine and drove home.
Back in Dresden we had another round of sparkling wine and get Max back from his nursery-school. Like two weeks or so before, Max sees us, starts running, passes Madl and stops at me. Good kid. Back home, we continued with S/W and not ended until the third bottle of the day was emptied. Anne came by and we had quite a quiet evening on the couch.
The next morning I woke up, and went to the bakery with Max, to get some (the wrong kind, apparently) bread, buns and watching the machines with Max. Sandy gave me a hug for my 25th birthday and Madl gave me shit, because Max already had a bun on the way. She didn´t realize. No big deal.
Main actAt 22.00 I cursed and hated all of my friends, because none of them (by the means of ten) turned up. What about the fine implicit rule that you have to turn up at 9, when the invitation says 7?!
At 23.00 I cursed and hated all of my friends. Like some kind of Mongolian horde they came over me all at once. I only had half a glass of wine and a bit of salad, but my inner espresso-counter showed 22. I was as
aufgebürschtelt as a Duracell-bunny. The lack of calming down alcoholic beverages and my coffee OD culminated in a nice warm campfire. It took me half-a-liter of pure alcohol to create a 6m fire, roasting the apples on our tree.
“It´s a man´s world! Daba, daba da-ba!”
There are some crucial issues on celebrating a birthday in the right manner.
First and most important of all is the issue of haircut. I told my hairdresser I wanted a haircut that looks in two weeks like I must have looked two weeks before. It´s important NOT to look like fresh out of the barber shop, so one is not suspected of getting a haircut extra for one´s party.
The music is also an important issue. I was struggling the whole time whether getting a 2,1kW sound system and a DJ, to blaze my neighbors out of their beds, or setting up a relaxed background sound-carpet. Do you want the people dancing or talking? In some pr-classes I learned how important music is, to get the people in the right mood. Be it to buy cheap perfume or to spend a nice evening in the outskirts of Renateberg. I decided against d´n´b in favor of Funk, Johnny Cash and some Jazz.
I like presents. I like the idea of an implicit debt, a due people feel once you gave them a present. It is inevitable. On the other hand, I do not feel obliged, since all my friends are complete failures. No gilded statue. I mean, I am 25. I do not have much longer.
They say, things one made by itself are always the best, e.g. scarves, pictures, poems. Of course, they are all wrong. Imagine self-made jet-turbines and anti-virus programs or hand-woven safety-belts.
But when my old friend Bollek turned up, he wore a white labor-robe and pretended using some kind of measuring-instrument. This was the self-made clock he gave me; the funniest best and most kind birthday-present I (ever) received. From the other ones I got either coffee or wine. Nice way of telling me to go fuck myself. I even got a cigar! Can you dig it?! I did almost any kind of chemical life-enhancement on this sunny planet except of tobacco, and now someone´s giving me a cigar! I don’t know anyone who smokes these. So I cannot even make it a present by myself! But I know how to take it, I know, there is an evil and diabolic plan, to have me sit there in the age of forty, staring at this cylindrical carcinogen, cursing the scum who made me carry this thing through all my flats, through all my life. Think about to quit not smoking.
Treacherous bastard is a word I always wanted to use, despite the total lack of contextualizing moment.
I wanted my friends to have fun. Someone had to be in charge. And what a pity: it was me. I didn´t have my second glass of wine before midnight, I even forgot to eat (except of some tiny sausages and some salad). But eventually they took care of getting me drunk – or at least relaxed.
The ones, who wanted a quiet and calm night, without drinking – either because they were the designated drivers or they were just staying sober – these ones sat all around the fire, meanwhile cozy instead of dangerously high. I felt a bit uncomfortable about them. I didn´t want them to be bored. But, friends of mine took care.
A friend of mine, by the name of Paul punched out his ideas of being a thoughtful and caring “man”. He intends to ask his girlfriend (-to-be) about the dates of her period. So in case he will be capable to comfort and support her whilst being extra nice. Paul is quite a bright one and he is also an absolute disgrace for his gender. There is the German term “Frauenversteher” and he is its role-model. Guys like him are the reason why women bother us with insane expectations and when we eventually met them, the woman went off, fucking a stinking, illiterate plumber. Or something like that. Poor, naïve him, he is just too kind. He uses his brain for thinking – instead of keeping the blood chilled for his loins. Major mistake.
Schorscht has soft gynecologist’s hands.
Around two in the morning, my father came back from a birthday party too but there, they all were twice as old. He told me, he wanted to have a beer with the youth. Hence I think he was a little afraid of us ravaging, looting, and fornicating.
I warned him, but the worst case happened: M. started a chat with him. We stood there, watching both of them: M. talking without even taking a breath, and my father suffering in agony. What a great picture! The next day he told me he just pretended to listen – a skill he trained for
years living with strong women.
Round about that time, dark forces – represented by young girls – get me into drinking wine. She filled my glass, and then stapled a little more wine on it. I knew before, this would end horribly.
So, eventually whenever I insulted a friend of mine, with things like: “Willste ma anfassen?!” my father turned up all of sudden. And – of course – I felt ashamed.
Hiatus.
Friday is Gärdi´s 25th birthday, and I am going to Renateberg to celebrate it. He got a table in a place called “Sportlerheim” where we will have roast beef. I wanted to publish this scribble a long time ago, but anyway… So, six month later, I now try to finish this text.I prepared something like home-made jello shots. Apple-juice, vodka and – mint. It tasted horribly, like burned rubber. After the majority went home, I sat next to the fire and had some inexpensive red wine. Later on, around 3 or something, my father, who was quite impressed, asked me, if he should donate another box of beer he had hit. But I still think, this would have been too much. The next day he told me, what he heart this evening: it seems that the master-topic of the night was : “Look at … he became fat!” or “Look at … he became fat too!” Yeah, that´s us. Ten years from now, we will mourn about our doctors and change medication-tips. They all helped me cleaning up the place.
Even though I had a
reservation for the bedroom, I ended up on the couch, just in case somebody needed anything during the night. When I woke up, I felt a bit dizzy... And went to the toilet to vomit. I skipped breakfast and missed my godchild – who pretended to be sick this night – spilling a whole can of (cold) tea over him. I continued the vomiting the whole morning. And when my friends left, I puked. This wasn´t a hangover. I didn´t drink much. There was something wrong.
Maybe with all the tension of the past weeks gone, my body looked for some revenge. He got it. I was weak as never before in my life. In the afternoon, I managed it to eat some mashed apple with salt – and to keep it. Not a hangover, more like some kind of infection.
The next day, I had nice entrecote steaks with my father for lunch. No more sickness. The chocolate they gave me lasted a week, the book I got I didn´t read until today, and I still have the cigar. You see, a gilded statue
is obviously the better gift.
This 25th birthday coming up on Friday remembers me: Many of my friends had turned recently or will turn soon 25. Something weird is going on. When I look back on the past 6 month there are lots of things that changed. So it´s nice to keep my 25th birthday in memory. When I, when we were still young and naïve. It´s like the “wave speech” by Thompson.
“…and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”It wasn´t about me, or a gilded statue. It was all about my friends spending one last late summer night together. Having some beers, enjoying their lifes. That´s all I wanted for my birthday. Just being a good host to the people I love. That´s my birthday present.
St. Peter-Ording. Jörg Kachelmanns (Ex-)Freundin wirft ihm vor, mit ihr Sex (untenrum) gehabt zu haben. Noch bevor es eine Vorverurteilung durch die Öffentlichkeit geben konnte, sperrte man den Lustmolch da hin, wo die Sonne niemals scheint.
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