The Comfy Corner

Yesterday was Chris' golden birthday. The golden birthday is, unfortunately, a birthday that typically passes by most people unrecognized. It occurs when you turn the age of the day of the month you were born (i.e. Chris turned 26 on the 26th). Sadly, I was born on the 6th and on my 6th birthday I was far too busy snorting pixie sticks and pimpin' my tricycle to realize it was my golden birthday. But, Chris (of course) did not forget. In fact, he threw an epic celebration (not as epic as my friend Camille, though, who is throwing a "Golden Birthday Parade" on her golden birthday in New York, of which I hope to be in the band :)). <----hate that. Much to my excitement and joy, I was (self elected to be) put in charge of purchasing the decorations for the party. I went to a little store in Boston called iParty. I went in expecting to see some party supplies, I ended up in party heaven. It was like walking into Lady Gaga's closet. They had every imaginable decoration for every imaginable event: blow-up cactus', penis shaped everything for those bachelorette parties, feather boas of every description, sequin hats, sombreros, etc. I purchased 40 dollars worth of golden fringe, golden streamers, golden beads and a dozen red balloons with golden strings (see what I was going for? It was a gold theme. Got it? Good.). The balloon man tied my bunch of balloons into an elaborate bouquet with each balloon at a different length and each 10 ft long string curled into a perfect twist. I looked at him incredulously and after a couple moments of awkward silence as I stood there drop-jawed, eyes fixed on balloon mountain he said "perhaps you'd like it to be a little more compact?" I responded, "Yeah, I don't wanna float away." To which the woman who was assisting him laughed and laughed as if I was the first person with a sense of humor to walk into the party store. I mean, I felt like that was a pretty standard balloon joke, yeah? Sheesh.

So there I was armed with three huge bags of golden decorations, birthday presents and a dozen helium-filled balloons, when suddenly I realized that I had to get on the subway like this. And to top it all, I was traveling at approximately 5:30, the height of rush hour, on a Friday. It was official, I was about to become - the hated person on the T. I put on my sunglasses to conceal my identity and I boarded the crowded T... to my extreme dismay, the car I was on did not have air conditioning. So there I was crammed into the corner, balloons pressing against my face trying to be as small as possible, dressed in all black from work, sweat pouring down my face, the rubber making all sorts of noise, kids screaming "Look balloons" and me trying to act like nothing is out of the ordinary (like I'm a balloon delivery man or something). What I didn't consider was the fact that balloons do not react well to heat. Of course as soon as I considered this fact, an overfilled balloon popped almost giving one man a heart attack. I apologized profusely and made some awkward jokes about the heat. Outside I was wearing a smile. Inside, I was crying.

Finally, I made it out of the T armed with 11 balloons now. All was clear from here on out. Just a quick 10 minute walk through Harvard square. I was home free! As I was walking, though, an abrasive voice sounded behind me "Watch out for dat blanch! You going to pop dah barrooons!!" I looked back to see a small Asian woman following me with a deep look of concern for my balloons and sure enough POP! I lost another one. With ten balloons left, I finally thought to myself, "Wow, I must look like a complete idiot. I wish I could see myself now." The best I could do was capture this picture of my shadow. The balloon journey is not one to be made lightly folks. If you have to make it, watch out for hot subways and low hanging branches. Otherwise, you may very well pop your barroons.