You say it's your birthday...

It’s my birthday, too! Friday night some of my teacher friends took me out for my birthday. I had been worried that my birthday would be a non-event, the way it was my freshman year in college, but Monica made sure it wasn’t. We all met for dinner at a fabulous Thai restaurant. The Parkland crew (four of us from my apartment complex) was an hour late due to crazy traffic; it took an hour and forty five minutes to get downtown when it usually takes forty. I was trying not to get frustrated, and having great company in the cab helped. My mood was assuaged when upon entering Anna’s Cafe the manager asked me if I was a star. I was taken aback but said, “Not yet.” He laughed, pleased with my answer. Perhaps he says this to all the ladies, but I was flattered nonetheless.

We had a savory dinner replete with the birthday song sung by the wait staff at the end and a slice of yummy carrot cake. I had heard that Anna’s Cafe had good cake, but I imagined the praise was relative to other Thai cake. But this carrot cake rivaled many I have had at home. After I made a wish, blew out the candle, and took a bite, I passed it around the table.

Even though we were an hour late for dinner, we made it in time to get a downstairs table at O’Reilly’s Pub before the Thai Beatle’s started playing. This place was packed with quite a mix of people. A lot of old white guys with their young and not so young Thai beauties. Some single farangs in the mix. Some Thai’s (including an old one that played air guitar all night—most entertaining). Some Indians. I surveyed our group and asked them what their favorite Beatle’s song is and everyone had a different answer; however some people revised their selections as different songs were played. There are just too many fabulous songs.

And the band was impressive. I’ve heard a couple Thai bands by now and more often than not, the Thai accent is quite obtrusive, to the point of sometimes being comic. But I could not detect an accent when the Thai Beatles sang. It was amazing. We were singing along, being obnoxious. At one point, I got up and danced with an old man who I am sure is the proud owner of a Viagra prescription, but he had amazing energy. He danced all night. As far as dancing goes, it is difficult for me to follow sometimes (imagine that), but I did my best; since he was a strong lead, it wasn’t too hard. He did the turns and all that; I was just waiting for him to dip me and for my back to go out, revealing to all my soon to be rickety age of thirty two. Luckily, that didn’t happen. He was very grateful for the dance and kept wai-ing to me once the dance was over I wanted to tell him I wasn’t Thai, nor was he, so he didn’t need to do the whole hands-folded-in-prayer-and-bowing thing to show gratitude, but I feared the alternative would be far worse so I let him bow until his heart’s content.

The inevitable came rather early in the evening. Monica, the gem, had told the band it was my birthday. They sang Happy Birthday and then, well, you know the drill. So now I have been serenaded in three different countries. It was fun. And much better than anyone else who has sung “Michelle, ma belle…” to me before.