The 15th Anniversary of My 19th Birthday

The 15th Anniversary of My 19th Birthday

that was me in '99.

In Canada, your 19th birthday is a pretty big deal.  You've been old enough to vote and buy pornography for a year by this point.  What's more important is you can now legally buy alcohol everywhere in the country.  If, like me, you grew up in Ontario there were only a few ways to get drunk on a Saturday night until you were 19.

1. Take a quick drive to Hull, Quebec.
2. Take a long drive to Manitoba.
3. Raid your parent's liquor cabinet.
4. Become friends with older kids who could legally buy beer already.

Number one and number four were always the easiest to accomplish.

This coming Wednesday I'll be turning 34. Holy cow, where did the time go?  Did I really drink away that many years?  Am I really just a 21-year old trapped inside a 33 year old's body?

My 19th birthday (August 13th, 1999) was a great adventure indeed.  So let's take it from the top.

That August I was earning a living at a summertime art camp for little kids.  My hair was really long at this point, but still not at it's longest.  I was avidly wearing red jeans, unbuttoned leopard print button up shirts over top of black tank tops, lots of bracelets and necklaces, and a top hat. Also, my love for Converse All Stars had only been going for a year or so. I guess you could say that Converse and I were still in the newlywed stage.

I had become close friends with the guys who would continue to be my closest friends for the rest of my life - The Dickheads, though we hadn't been given that moniker just yet.  The Dickheads were (and still are to some impact) Chris Morris, Brian Crofton, Adam Thom, Peter Fairley, Joshua Lindsay Mercer Clements, and myself.  You could argue that this other guy, Rob "The Beef" Trentadue, was also a part of the Dickheads but that would depend on which Dickhead you asked about it.

As my nineteenth birthday approached, I left the details up to the Dickheads.  My parents had decided to go out of town to visit my sister for a couple weeks, so I had the place to myself.  The possibilities were pretty much endless.  And since my 19th birthday fell on a Friday, I had an entire weekend to wreak havoc if I so chose.

The Dickheads decided we'd been partying in Kingston enough as it was, and since I had actually been going to pubs and bars while I was 18 I had to agree with them.  It was then Chris Morris who came up with the plan.

"Let's get him right royally fucking drunk at a dirty strip club in Belleville." - Chris Morris (paraphrased but probably pretty accurate to a quote)

The Dickheads - Chris, Adam, Ernie (filling in for Josh), Grover, Crofton, Ryan.

And that's what happened.  I've always been a big fan of road trips, so myself, Adam, and Peter, all piled into Brian's mom's car that Friday when I had finished work. The Beef might have come along too, but I really don't remember.  This car was special, because it was still sort of new.  You see, The Dickheads kinda killed his mom's first car, The GEO, on the 401 Highway a few months back.  This new car was a sleek NEOGEO.  We were late leaving, of course, because we were waiting for Adam "Always Late For Everything" Thom to finish taking a big poop in his house.  I'm not making that up.  Then we hit the road, stopping only for gas.

Chris was living in Belleville at the time and when we got to his apartment we couldn't figure out which buzz number was his.  We did, however, know which balcony was his so we did what any Dickhead would do... we climbed up the balconies to get to his apartment.  Made sense.

After a quick debriefing of plans, we called some cabs and headed out to drink.  Little did my horny and perverted newly 19-year old mind know, the boys insisted on some pre-drinks first at some other bar that didn't have any naked women in it.

WHAT??????????

I had never been to a strip club before, and most of my friends were already a year older, and thus a year wiser, and informed me that the beer at the strip club was priced up the ass and we needed to get a good buzz on for cheap, because we needed to save cash to give to the strippers.  That decision was economical and fair to the women who were probably paying for their therapy with whatever fivers get tossed their way.  Remember, in Canada, the lowest denomination of a bill is a five, so a stripper single can go a long way.

We finally got to the strip club, a little place called The Cabaret, and we weren't even greeted at the door.  No carding, no checking for our ID, no cover.  In all fairness, we were there a little early.  The sun had just gone down.  In August.  But this was good, because I was honestly worried that even though I had turned 19 that day and was legally able to drink anywhere in Canada that they wouldn't let me in.  You see, I didn't yet have a driver's license (not that I have one now...) and I was still using my birth certificate and student ID for my picture to get into places.  Lame, I know, but it's still better than Adam trying to use his birth certificate with a photo of him cut out from the local newspaper with his name under it.  Let's just be glad we got in with no hassle.

Here you see three Dickheads being awesome.  I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong, they were awesome.

We immediately sat in Pervert's Row and ordered several pitchers of Molson Canadian, which we excitedly drank and then ordered more.  We were still kids, remember, and to us Molson Canadian was the coolest beer out there.  I have since developed a hatred toward that awful beer and you probably couldn't bribe me to drink it even if you offered naked women.

Well, maybe.

This is where the night got a little hazy and my memory escapes me a bit.  I remember going to the bathroom and putting a loonie into a machine to get a porno bubble gum card, except it had no bubble gum and I was disappointed.  I also remember Peter "The Robot" Fairley trying to get some of the strippers to join the Ryan Fan Club.  I remember Chris referring to my face as being many inanimate objects and other things.... "your face is a beer".... "your face is maple syrup"... "your face is richard nixon"...

But what I remember most is how the Dickheads got me up on stage with a stripper.  There we were drinking away and staring at boobies when suddenly a voice came over the PA system, announcing to everyone that it was indeed my birthday and that I should get up on stage.  I didn't know what to expect, and actually thought for a second that I would be required to do a striptease like the guy in Detroit Rock City.  Who would want to see that?  Especially from me?

A bouncer then came onstage and offered me a seat.  He was a nice man, considering he could have eaten me in three bites, and he could sense I was nervous.  The bouncer informed me to just relax and let happen what was going to happen, but also made it very clear to keep my hands to myself.  I dramatically put them behind my back to make sure he saw me do so.  I wanted to live to see twenty.

"hey guys, check out my GnR t-shirt... PSYCH!"

Then the PA system lit up with Guns N' Fucking Roses... "You're Crazy"... the slower acoustic version... and this french girl came out and started dancing.  Just for me.  Sure, everyone else was watching too, but fuck them, this dance was just for me.  It was my goddam birthday.  And at this point I was also really wasted from beer and shots.  I think all I could do was smile at her and reassure her that my hands were comfortably behind my back because I didn't want to get assraped by the bouncer.  I guess she thought that was cute.  I bet they say that to all the boys.

Next, "Angel" by Aerosmith... and the stripper was on my lap. Sweet Mary Jesus this was incredible.  Just relax, and let happen what was going to happen...  WHAM!  My face was smushed right into her average sized boobs.  I remember thinking they were real, even though I had very little basis for comparison at this point in my life.  And then after blinking a couple times to make sure what was happening was real, I had a face full of good ol' French Canadian beaver.  Not the kind you'd find on the other side of a nickel, but the kind that would make you want to set up a dentist appointment the very next day.

Then something was very cold. Ice cold.  Almost like it was ice.

It was ice.  And it was down the front of my Superman boxer shorts.  Yep, I wore Superman boxer shorts to a strip club.  Fuck.  And everyone knew now, because the stripper had pulled down my pants when I wasn't paying attention.  That ice was cold.  You might say it was cold as ice.   Another lap dance followed, and the ice continued to be cold.  When she was done, the nice man on the PA system asked everyone to give me a round of applause and I stood up, ice falling, water dripping, and my arms in the air like I'd just won the WWF Intercontinental Championship at Summer Slam.  Even the bouncer shot a thumbs up my way.  This was my moment.

it's a wonder anyone ever kissed me.

The next thing I remember is waking up in Chris' living room, on his floor, unsure if he had passionately man-raped me while I was asleep. I knew for a fact that I didn't puke, and I was a little proud of myself for that.  To this day, I'm still excited when I wake up after a night of crazy drinking and no vomiting.  Oh, the birthday gifts didn't stop either.  Chris' roommate sent me home with a box of Count Chocula.

Before leaving Belleville we stopped at a Chapters bookstore.  I bought some magazines, and in the process we saw the strippers there from the night before.  We all made eye contact and it was awkward.  Mostly because none of them joined my Fan Club.  And that was my 19th birthday.

- Ryan