RED MEAT IS 25. SO AM I. 

I shall start this entry by thanking everyone who took time out of his/her day to wish we a Happy 25th Birthday. It meant a lot. I had nice phone conversations with Bert (18 minutes), Jelly (nine minutes), my grandma (one minute), Minkus (10 minutes) and Little Joe (23 minutes). When you add that to all the text messages and hugs and hand pounds, it was a happy birthday, indeed.

Just as I finished Monday's entry, Paul came to pick me up from casa de Tina. On the way to Mandina's, Paul updated me on the Cara situation. He called her Sunday night, but she didn't answer. About an hour and a half later, she sent him a text message. They then exchanged texts discussing the weekend and set up Wednesday's date. I hear Lamar Odom might pass the ball to them. 

Paul: She said I'll text you Wednesday to tell you where to pick me up.

Me: Hopefully, it's not at the corner of two streets.

Also in attendance at Mandina's for dinner: Bob, Danny, Gillie, Kaila, Kelly and Jenna. Wait, I'm forgetting someone. Oh yeah. ...

Chuck was in the house. And rocking this beard. It looks really good. When he saw me taking out my camera to take this pic, he said: "Oh, man. I don't want to be in The Gene Pool." Sorry, buddy. Next time, you should open your eyes and smile. What would your mother say?

I took this picture of the group as I was coming back from the bathroom. Seems like I instead took a picture of these fine-looking older people. I bet it's the first time anyone of them have been on that crazy Internet. Anyway, my peeps are at the next table. You can see the back of Chuck's head and the side of Danny's and Paul's. So, this should be an award-winner. 

I think Kelly and Kaila are having a conversation at the far end of the table. Probably about how awesome I am and how privileged they were to be invited to such an historic occasion. 

Bob takes a break from counting the money for the bill to toast an empty glass to my birthday. Cheers, Bob. Obviously, I didn't pay anything for the meal and therefore, don't know the total damage. But I do know that Bob counted the money like seven times. I think we stiffed the waiter. 

As I was nearing the exit door after a fine dinner, Kaila grabbed me and turned me around. I was confused. She informed me that I forgot my to-go box. Not shocking. I do that all the time. I was even more befuddled to see Kaila return to our table with me. She also forgot her to-go box. Hmm. We both ordered the fried shrimp plate. Must have something to do with the last name.

My to-go box wasn't the only thing I forgot at Mandina's. I even had two chances to take the other thing. It was sitting right next to the leftover shrimp. I wonder if the staff at the restaurant got a kick out of it. I'm speaking about the card Bob, Chuck and Gillie got for me. Sorry, guys.

It said on the front: HIGH SCHOOL MEWSUCIAL. It had a couple of cats on it. All three left a note trying to make puns about cats. I think Gillie said I was purrty. Bob called me a princess. That was odd. Unfortunately, I don't remember what the rest of the card says. Though I do prefer my cats to be fighting.

Paul, Danny, Chuck, Gillie and I stopped for a drink at Bruno's after the meal. This seems like a good time to mention that I'm now on a two-birthday streak of throwing up in my bathroom. See, Lopes. You're not alone. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is watching Dancing with the Stars. She wants Brooke Burke to win. She yells at Lance Bass during his performance: "If you beat out Brooke, that is definitely fucking boy band crap."

I cover up in a blanket to watch TV. Mom has the air on because she's hot. "Gene, what the fuck? A blanket?"

I'm watching Worst Week. "How long has this been on for? Fucking four or five weeks?" I tell her more like seven. "Is it all the same fucking week?" I tell her no. She watches some more. "He's going to fuck-up the wedding."

Mom reads to me America's top 10 favorite stars from Parade Magazine. I express shock that Meryl Streep is in a current poll. "Come on. She learned like three fucking languages for Sophie's Choice."

TEXTING. NOW. I LIKE TEXTING. 

One of the things I hate most about our ever-growing technological world is Happy Birthday wishes on facebook. I've never told anyone Happy Birthday on that Web site. To my generation, however, it's commonplace. If you look at any given person's facebook wall on their birthday, it's littered with well wishes.

Why am I so against this concept? Because to me, someone who wishes someone Happy Birthday on facebook is basically saying: I don't care enough about you to hang with you or call you, but Happy Birthday, asshole. It's like a big Fuck You. Unless, of course, you write a full note.  

If you are really friends with someone, wouldn't you call them to say Happy Birthday? Maybe it's just me, but writing Happy Birthday on facebook tells the person that the only time you have for him is a quick message on a Web site you were going to spend 20 minutes surfing on anyway. I think if you look at a typical facebook wall on a birthday, you'll find many people that the person hardly ever talks to saying Happy Birthday. Ugh. 

I would rather someone not contact me at all than type those two words on my facebook. So, the past two years I've been telling people on the site not to wish me well on my birthday. I even warned that I would disown anyone who ignored me. It didn't work last year, and it didn't work this year either. 

Turns out, asking people not to say Happy Birthday makes them want to say it all the more. I got eight such messages. At least they all said more than just Happy Birthday. It started a dialogue. That's all I ask. 

Next year, I'm going to beg and plead for well wishes. Perhaps it will have the opposite result. 

FANTASY FEVER

Two heartbreaking losses this past week for my fantasy teams. The Dos Agateers were eliminated from playoff contention with a six-point loss. Heading into the Sunday night game, we just needed Brian Westbrook to score. Did he? That would be no.

As for The Gene Poolers, three plays killed me. 1) Marvin Harrison dropped a wide-open pass that would have gone for like a 60-yard touchdown. If he catches it, I win. 2) Frank Gore got tackled by a hand touching his back late in the Monday night game. If he scores, I win. 3) Drew Brees completed a Hail Mary pass to Lance Moore on a meaningless final play for a 32-yard touchdown pass. If that falls incomplete, I win. 

That is such bullshit, huh? I'm writing a letter to the commissioner to have the results reversed. This is the second time this season I lost by the slimmest of margins. The defeat puts me in a three-way tie for third place in an eight-team league. Yet I regained the overall points lead this week. Go figure. 

PARTING SHOTS

Danny and I are talking about all the good-looking girls who work on the first floor. He notes that some of them work where they type-up the obits.

Danny: "I'd like to put a few nails in their coffins."

Retro quote: November 11, 2004.

We're playing Taboo at Kevin's house. It's the other team's turn. I'm in charge of buzzing Robbie as he gives the clues. He turns over the first card. It is "Ocean."

Robbie: There are seven of these.

Booth (without hesitation): Oceans.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

The top five presents I got for my birthday. 

5) An unidentified item.

From: Chuck. He will be giving it to me soon. 

4) Free food all day.

I turned the leftovers into a solid lunch Tuesday.

3) Dunder Mifflin Paper Co. T-shirt.

From: Paul.

2) $150 gift card to Best Buy.

From: my mom.

1) Authentic Chris Paul jersey.

From: Myself.