Well, I'm now 27 years old.
My birthday was Saturday, and I was in The Windy City of Chicago, Illinois. It wasn't so much windy, as it was God-chillingly windy.
And I've never known the kind of cold that was graciously bestowed upon me as a gift for my birthday by my new pal, Lake Michigan.
Thanks Mishy, it's what I always wanted.

I spent my anniversary of life in the Midwestern portion of this great nation of ours for one reason, and one reason only.

The Habit needed me.

And being the professional that I wish I was, I answered the call.
The call came, and even though I screened it initially, I did pick up the phone.

I left for Chicago on a sunny morning in Los Angeles and as I strolled, I'm sorry, limped, up to the security checkpoint, I had the momentary fear that I'd accidentally left a little heroine packed into my luggage. But I hadn't, she had escaped and taken all of my drugs with her, the scamp.

I rode on Southwest Airlines, or as I like to call it, the Metro Bus of the Sky. Some of the guys from my comedy group, The Habit, were on the same flight as me, and I was praying to God there wouldn't be enough seats for us all to sit together, but there were. Thanks again God, first my parents split up, and now this! I'm not going to feel guilty for not going to church* anymore.

So we took to the skies. Some of the guys looked a little scared, but I'm not afraid to fly at all. The worst thing that can happen to you on an airplane is what, a terrorist attack?
No.
Plane crash?
No.
It's Boredom.
At least if the terrorists show up you have something to do, and if the plane crashes who knows, you might get lucky and survive with only catastrophic life threatening injuries. What a story that would make for the other people in the hospital! Sure, it's the only story you'll ever tell from now on, but the important thing is, you didn't die.
However, if I ever run out of magazines to read, or music to listen to, or god help us, things to look out the window at, it makes me want to die.

I didn't get bored though, I spent most of my time flicking my Tootsie Roll Midgees at a man that they call "The D.S." because, according to our records, he is apparently "the best".

When we arrived in Chicago the excitement was palpable, and I gently reached down and palped it before setting out from the airport in a vehicle that some joker thought would be fun to call a "shuttle". What a Dick.

Anyway, I got to my hotel room and immediately went to the minibar, and then I even more immediately stood up, and ran away from it, it's movie theatre prices, and the 19% added service charge. That is fucking ludicrous! But I'm not treading any new ground here so I'll move on. You're welcome.

We were a part of The Chicago SketchFest, and I must say that it was the most professional and well organized festival I have ever been a part of. We even got badges to hang around our necks like backstage passes, it was awesome.
We had two shows to perform that weekend and a whole lot of drinking to do so we headed back out into the ice and snow to get started on the latter.

I woke up the next morning and felt great. I had gotten a reasonable amount of sleep and I had a great day to look forward to. I hopped out of bed, and after crumpling to the floor in agony, remembered that I was still grounded from hopping. After the pain subsided I collected myself and went to meet the boys at high noon.
Meaning 12:25.

We ran the show at a sparsely populated restaurant and it was good practice for our actual show that night, when we had such a small crowd that the director of the festival came into our dressing room to apologize before the show began. That's a great feeling.

But we went out and rocked those twenty-to-fourty-five-depending-on-who-you-ask people! They never saw us coming. One lady in the front row even passed out! I think it was the sheer titillation of hearing the phrase "my ball sack" repeated over and over again in increasingly provocative sentences. Though let me be absolutely clear about that sketch, it is a work of art. And she could have just been tired.

But we were undaunted! We set out into the night and went our separate ways, and once again I became Drunken Ryan. He's a slurring, limping, superhero with really bad breath and the superhuman ability to fall asleep anywhere. Ah, good times.

I woke up the next morning and, what do you know, it was my birthday.
I thought to myself,
"Well, I made it. May this next year of my life be filled with wonder and excitement and success. Look out world, here I come! I'm gonna hop out of this bed and make today the best day of my-OW! FUCK!"


To Be Continued...





*Editor's Note: We here at The Ryduffalo Pinyon don't attend church because of the simple fact that we don't believe in them. We believe in God, just not churches themselves, we don't think they exist.