1.6. Happy Birthday, Baby.

Larry here - another wild series of miscommunication and mishaps led to a breakthrough of sorts for Balki and me this week. It's becoming more and more common that after an escalating series of screw-ups that make me want to kill Balki, we end the day finding common ground. I'd like to say it's because Balki is starting to assimilate to American culture and general human decency, but it's far more likely that I'm rapidly losing touch with reality.

I turned 24 this week. It was a traumatic birthday, to say the least.

Things started as they often do around here. I was at work, nervously screwing with an adding machine, not even noticing the customers milling about around me. I was trying to focus on work, but my mind was on the phone parked right in front of me. I was waiting desperately for a phone call that hadn't come.

"Why won't they call? They said they'd call! I'll tell you why, because nobody ever returns your phone calls!" I said out loud to no one. If you're wondering whether you should start to be worried about me, the answer is probably yes. Lord knows I am.

Anyway I was so entranced by my current hobby of blindly poking away at the adding machine and talking to myself that I didn't notice Balki descending the staircase. He swept around the front desk and reached for the phone, but I pounced after his hand with the kind of Appleton ninja speed that I know is always lurking just beneath my skin. "Balki, use the phone, I break a bone" I told him, meaning every syllable. Life with Balki keeps both of us in an environment shrouded in constant violence, either in the form of me threatening him or him actually assaulting me while chalking it up to "how they do things on Mypos." It's an unhealthy and dangerous relationship. I can't imagine it will end well.

Balki asked why I was so nervous and fidgety and accused me of getting up "on the wrong side of the flock" (because he's a shepherd, right! Shut up, Balki.) I snapped at him, and we just stood there staring at each other for a second, probably each imagining watching the other drown. Just before the tension in the room caused the windows to shatter, the phone rang. It was THEM!

More specifically, it was the photo editor of the Chicago Weekly Gazette. I had submitted a photo I took of a burning building, and they were interested in printing it. Although it was an especially important call from people I need to impress I simply told them, "great, I'll be there," and then slammed the receiver down without saying "thank you" or "goodbye." The call triggered an extremely dramatic mood swing; I was on top of the world.

They needed me to get over to the paper by 6 pm to sign a release so Cousin Larry could get his ass paid. As is our custom at Ritz Discount, I ignored the accounting work I was in the middle of, threw on my coat and headed toward the door mid-shift without even considering coming back or asking Balki if he felt like sticking around for the next hour to cover me.

He was pretty psyched for me though, and as the hatred and tension dissipated we organically launched into a little ditty we've been working on called "The Dance of Joy." If you'll remember, when I accompanied Balki on his first date at a fancy Italian restaurant the band started playing a song called "The Dance of Joy" and Balki and I kind of grooved on it. So we worked up a pretty sweet dance routine that involves kicking our legs out side to side in unison, jumping up and down and screaming, and then I leap into Balki's arms. We only do this when we're happy, which isn't often. But I have to admit we've got it down.

The Dance of Joy is rad, you guys.

So for the first time in a long time, we're doing all right. I'm in a good mood because I'm on my way to becoming a respected photojournalist who takes intrusive pictures of people's homes burning to the ground, Balki is in a good mood because I'm in a good mood, the Dance of Joy is jelling nicely and, by the way, it's my 24th BIRTHDAY, y'all!

I let this slip to Balki, who erased a lot of goodwill instantly by asking what I got HIM. Back down here on Earth, Balki remains the most selfish asshole I've ever met. He acted like it's his firm belief that on your birthday you're supposed to buy a gift and bake a cake for - I don't know, some guy I guess, he didn't explain why it would be him specifically. Then you know what he did? He FORGAVE me because I was having a good day professionally.

You see what Balki did there? Killer move. Not only did he talk himself out of getting me a present or baking a cake, he FORGAVE me all magnanimously for not doing those things for HIM. As if I'm supposed to feel bad about it but he's the bigger man for letting it slide. On my birthday. Fuck you, Balki.

I was in such a good mood though that I just ignored it. I told Balki that I hadn't told him it was my birthday because I haven't been in the mood to celebrate lately (well documented here; I didn't mention this mood is entirely his fault) but things were looking up.

Just then Twinkie burst in, and he was in a mood of his own. He called Balki and I "Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber" and when Balki told him I'd sold a photo he got really dark on me, telling me I was going to work for him at his crappy store until I die. It's possible he was in a bad mood because he saw that I had my coat on and was clearly planning to leave for the day even though he was paying me to work, but either way the old man kind of crossed a line. Fortunately he went into his office and I was out the door.

On my way out I passed Susan and her friend Tina coming into the store and left them with Balki. As I understand it, this is the moment the three of them began to plan the surprise birthday party for me that will live in infamy.

Granted, they only had an hour or two to pull it together, but even by those standards the setup for the party was pretty dim. It consisted of three small bags of chips, a handful of nuts, a bowl of punch, and a sign that read - I shit you not - Happy Birthday Cousin Lary." He'd spelled my first name wrong. Look, language barrier or not, it's a person's name, and a pretty easy one at that. He's lived in my home for almost two months. He sees my mail. Gun to my head, I could spell his insane last name after the first few days, it's kind of common courtesy. How on Earth did this dimwit spell my name wrong, and how did Susan and Tina not catch it? How little do these people care about me?

Regardless, when I entered there was no sign of a party, as Balki had scrambled to hide everything they'd just set up and Susan and Tina ran off to collect the guests. This was fortunate because I was pretty pissed off. It turns out that at the last minute, the Gazette had decided to use a picture taken by some other guy. Just because this other guy got a picture of a baby being rescued from the burning building while my photo suggested there were no survivors, I get bumped.

"Another Birthday, another banner year of failure with a capital 'F' for Larry Appleton," I declared to Balki. "Well, that's it. No more. Me, a photojournalist? It's time I realized my limitations."

I was having a pretty soul crushing epiphany, especially in light of Twinkacetti's "work for me until you die" comment from earlier. I went on with my pity party about how my master plan is ruined, and about how I'd scheduled my goals of achievement for life and it was all falling apart. By now I was supposed to win a Pulitzer Prize. Right about that time I couldn't help but notice that Balki was sitting really weird on the couch, and I'd come to learn later it's because he had hidden the party chips under the cushion and was now sitting on them. Anyway, he tried to cheer me up and pitched that we throw a party, but I wasn't having it. I told Balki the last thing I wanted was a room full of people saying "hey Larry, how's it going, whatever happened to the old Master Plan?" Which in retrospect sounds a little Hitler-y when you put it that way. I was relieved I hadn't told anyone else it's my birthday, and of course Balki was now panicking because any second now the guests would start pouring in.

A rapid knock came at the door. Balki rushed ahead of me and yelled at the party guests to go away before I could see them. I told Balki I was hungry, and so he reached into his pocket and produced some loose peanuts. Of course, he had hidden them there in a panic before I came in the door, but the fact that Balki had loose peanuts in his pocket came as very little surprise. I asked why he had peanuts in that pocket and he told me matter of factly that he had a squirrel in the other pocket. This is my life now.

So I went to hang up my coat, and as I opened the closet and reached for a coat hanger I felt a hard push on my back. Balki had shoved me into the closet and locked me in there, which I now know was so he could try to chase off the party guests; but at the time I assumed he had finally decided to make his move and starve me out while robbing me blind.

My brief incarceration awoke that barely contained rage I'd started the day with, and when Balki freed me I sprung toward him guns blazing, ready to finally have our death match. He refused to even admit that he'd locked me in the closet - was Balki finally exhibiting fear? And so I grabbed him by his collar, pulled him close and dropped the most hard core Cousin Larry Crazy Eyes on him yet.

After informing him to never - EVER - do that to me again, I released Balki and stormed off to my room just as the phone was ringing. Apparently it was my mom calling to wish me a happy birthday. Time like this, a guy could really use the unconditional love and support of his mom on an otherwise miserable birthday, so naturally Balki refused to let her speak with me. Even worse, he put on some whole performance where he pretended to be me, then slammed the receiver down on her when I headed past him to take a shower. 

Of course there was no hot water.

So I stormed out to complain to Balki and found him pressed against the window. What had happened when I left the room is that a guy delivered a birthday cake, and Balki tried to throw it out the window instead of just putting it in the fridge to try again tomorrow when I'd cooled off a little. But since Twinkie is a slumlord, the window slid down mid-toss and he'd painted it with a completely wasted cake.

I didn't really care what Balki was doing in the moment. I was fed up with my life, and decided it was time for a change. I stole away to the newspaper looking for the want ads, and began scanning them for jobs for a college grad with a knack for photography and a horrible work ethic. I decided that this was the best thing that had ever happened to me, as a weird, almost euphoric peace passed over my body. I gave Balki a kind smile and complimented his shirt as I headed off to my room to look for a new job.

I'm like, 99.9 percent sure I'm bipolar.

Five hours passed. It was the middle of the night, and I couldn't sleep. I stormed out to the living room and tried to rouse Balki, but he seemed to be dead. I yelled at him and shook him, to no avail. He didn't budge. I started to think that maybe ONE good thing happened on my birthday; but as a last ditch effort I made a wolf-sound effect and sure enough, the Turnip sprung off the couch like it was on fire. Classic.

With all my bellyaching, I finally admitted that what made me the saddest is that no one acknowledged it was my birthday, even my mom. Of course Balki had gone to great lengths to ensure this outcome, and he tried to explain that to me but I wasn't hearing it.

Another hour later, I woke to hear banging around in the kitchen, and emerged wielding the largest trophy I could find as protection. Although I know that Balki sleeps in the living room and him stalking around makes a lot more sense than an intruder, I thought this might be the best opportunity to beat the life out of him and claim I thought he was a burglar so I came out hot. The lights went on behind me, and I found the room filled with complete strangers screaming "SURPRISE" and throwing confetti. I embraced death, but Balki told me it was just a surprise birthday party. I was momentarily touched, but then reality set in and I asked who the hell all these strangers were in my living room at 3am. The party consisted of:

• A street cop.
• A guy who appeared to be the muscle in a motorcycle gang.
• A cool middle aged man in a leather jacket with slicked back hair.
• A heavyset man in all flannel
• A brassy woman in a donut shop uniform
• A mustachioed old gentleman with a bottle of booze.

It turns out Balki had called back through the whole guest list at 3 am and tried to get them to come back, but they understandably told him to go screw because he had corralled them on short notice earlier that night to come over and then rudely kicked them off the front doorstep. So instead he just went out and rounded up every stereotype he could find on the streets of Chicago in the middle of the night and let them into our home. Fortunately one of them was a cop, or dressed like one anyway.

The Biker approached. His name was Snake. He told me he was enjoying a 3 am donut at the shop down the street when Balki came in and bossed everyone in there into coming up to the party. He told me I was one lucky dude to have Balki as a friend. I patiently awaited a followup, wherein Snake would tell me to hand over all the valuables in the apartment; but it didn't come.

They brought a gift. It was crullers. They demanded a speech. I delivered.

I told them how much I appreciated how far they went out of their way to come to the party, and how it's moments like these when you realize who your true friends are. This speech was of course dripping with irony and directed at the absent collection of friends who I assumed had blown me off, but I'm pretty damn convincing when I want to be so I'm fairly certain that it came across as genuine. And so we drank and danced and ate donuts and created a lifetime of memories together. No big deal.

As daylight crested the skyscrapers of Chicago and Balki and I cleaned up the apartment, I told him that it was one of the best birthdays I've ever had. Balki told me I'm not a failure because I have friends, and inspired me to stick with my dream of being a photojournalist because "you can't set your watch by a dream. They operate on schedules all their own."

Pretty eloquent for a guy who had said about 12 hours earlier, direct quote: "What the matter with you is?"

As I headed off to catch a couple of hours of sleep, the old man from the party burst out of the bathroom with a glass and informed us that we were out of ice.

24th birthday recap: I think a strange old man drank my pee.