I Wouldn't Trade It For The World

Okay:

My long-time friend, creative and business partner, Joe, had his thirtieth birthday this month. His wife texted me Saturday morning about a surprise party at Mahogany on U Street.

Joe and I went to college together. We were both part of a larger crew of people from the Washington, DC area at this small black university in Durham, North Carolina. We were in a short-lived go-go band together and eventually started a rap group, Dirty Water. We'll be releasing our second long player this fall (shameless plug). Anyway, it' been almost 10 years. Now he's thirty, married, with a house, an SUV and an infant son. The American dream. He's on the board of trustees at his church. They gave him keys.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not jealous. I'm just in awe. Always have been.

I was there before all these things happened. I remember him telling me, "I'm about to get married."

And I remember thinking, "Why would you want to do that?"

I mean, I told my ex that I would marry her, but that was only because she wouldn't drop it. I would have never said such a thing were I not under duress.

The house, the SUV, the son. At each interval I privately scoffed at his undertaking of new responsibilities. I thought he was crazy. Now he has this whole manhood package, and I'm still downloading porn, paying my rent late and eating noodles for dinner.

Again, I'm not jealous. I don't want what he has. It just all happened so fast is what I'm saying.

Anyway, of course I wouldn't miss his party for all the cognac in France. I get to the restaurant and am greeted by a group of his friends that I know only through him. I notice two things almost immediately. One, I am decidedly under dressed (well dressed, mind you, but still under) and, two, I am the only single guy there. All of these people are married. They have their wives with them and they look perplexedly happy. So I order a drink.

The night progresses. I am trying hard to mind my manners and not slip into full Cool Cee Brown-mode. After all, this is not my night. This is Joe's night. Plus, there are people's wives here. I have to consciously remind myself to not say stuff like "bitch" or "pussy". I also have to remind myself to take small bites and chew slowly with my mouth closed. And sit up straight. And watch my volume. And try not to guffaw when I laugh, as I am prone to do.

A few drinks later, most of that stuff goes out of the window. I have said both "bitch" and "pussy", I have finished my entree in five minutes, I am slouched so deep in my seat that the back of my neck is resting on the back of the chair and my hands are in my pants.

At some point, I look around the table and realize that I am to a certain degree envious, but I am also incredulous. How do you do it? How do you spend every waking moment with another person like that? How do you shoulder the amount of responsibility equivalent to being a small village chieftain and "wouldn't trade it for the world"?

Never having been the kind to suffer burning curiosity, I ask the table, "How do you do it? How do you get married?" The answers varied.

"We didn't have anything else better to do."

"It was time."

"I didn't want her to leave me."

"The tax break is vicious."

I was surprised to hear how unabashedly un-romantic they all were about it. It was more of a practical decision, like splitting a cab.

Well, I was officially drunk by then and it was time to start chasing women. We had left the restaurant and made our way over to a Mexican spot down the street, Aleros. The hostess had these big, creamy Beyonce thighs. But I was cock-blocked by some bald-head Malik Yoba look-alike. My other attempts at love were also unsuccessful. I went home alone, fell asleep alone and woke up alone. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Happy Birthday, Joe

Thanks for reading.

Tip of the day: Try to be mindful of the fact that if you are drunk, your breath probably smells like ass to sober people.

Shameless Plug: Gill interviewed Illa Ghee and Team Demo on 89.3fm and got the real scoop on the Mobb Deep/Saigon brawl. Check out the podcast on The Black Broadway Show.