Wishful Thinking? Perhaps.

So, I believe all of my birthday wishes are in. Some were sent by Monday, Australian time, which was impressive and showed excellent preparation on the part of some of my friends. Others sent it on Monday, New York time. Probably only because Friendster reminded them, but certainly appreciated nonetheless. And then there are those who sent them about 72 hours later and still tried to give me some shit about the time difference. Uh yeah asshole, unless there's some fascinating secret about the rotation of the Earth that someone's hiding from everyone but you, I think you just need to use that little word "belated" and then we can both move on with our lives, mmmkay? Great.

Of course with pretty much every email or phone call, everyone was like "Oh my god I bet you're not gonna be sober enough to read this for DAYS!", to which I had to embarrassingly respond that I hadn't really gone all out on the actual date of my birth. Don't get me wrong, it was a nice day, with a trip to Bondi with my fellow New Yorkers (they got me a boogie board, yay!) and a lovely dinner at a French restaurant with all my closest friends here. But yeah, I was in bed earlier than most 6-year olds are on their birthdays, so it wasn't all that crazy. BUT that's all because I'm saving my energy for Saturday, which promises to be an interesting test of Zander's self-control.

The plan calls for a long boozy lunch starting at 1pm, with the same people who were responsible for my first 12 hour Australian bender back in September. That will most likely move to a bar or two until 8ish, when my party is scheduled to begin at Mars Lounge, as pictured, with 60 of my closest friends in Sydney. Or so my guest list would suggest, even though I've actually never met at least 9 people on that list in my life. Either way, that's a lot of drinking, and I figure there are a couple of ways this could all end up:

The Ideal -- I pace myself while drinking at lunch, perhaps having a sip of water for every two sips of an alcoholic beverage. I politely decline the offer of free drinks and shots until after 10pm. Around 2am, once I've made conversation with everyone in attendance, and the crowd begins to thin out, I gracefully make my exit, grab a taxi, and head home.

The Probability -- I start drinking heavily at the lunch table, maybe I've even had a couple of beers before I left the apartment, and quickly toss back any drink that's handed to me, even if it was meant for someone else. I am barely allowed into my own birthday party by the doormen at Mars Lounge, and around 11.15pm I am found passed out in a booth, poured into the first taxi that will take me anywhere, and I remember nothing.


Honestly, something in between those two extremes would be nice, but I'm not trying to kid you or anyone else. Bad things will happen.