No One's Ever Thrown Me A Surprise Party Before

I turned 21 in Amman, Jordan, on a Tuesday. The store that supposedly sold the "best milkshakes in the Middle East" didn't have any milkshakes, so we went to a tea shop in the middle of downtown Amman with a bunch of people I had just met three weeks ago. There was not much fanfare, but the tea was decent. We went home early to study for our history midterm the next day. In the following week, I came down with a case of Hepatitis A. It was not a miserable birthday, but it could have been better.

I turned 18 at a Buca di Beppo's somewhere in LA with people I had just met in my dorm, the first year of college. It was nice to get out of the dorm, but I'm not sure we had much to say to each other. There was a lot of, "So! This is pretty good food." "Yeah, I've never been here before." "Yeah!" "Yeah." Not miserable, but not really fantastic.

I turned 24 on a rainy day in Adams Morgan, and most of the people I had invited to dinner were sick/out of town/lazy/stuck in Alexandria/whatever. The people I ended up sharing it with were wonderful, but there were only four of us and a lot of mojitos. Again, not miserable, but I can't say it wasn't lame, either.

Not to say I haven't had some good, fun birthday parties: I turned 23 at Mama Ayesha's after living in DC 9 months and accumulating enough friends to make it a true birthday quorum. We ate Arabic food. We went salsa dancing afterwards. Some of us drank mojitos. I met Anthony, who now has surpassed me in Arabic skills and remains one of my dearest friends, despite the difficulty of the weekly Arabic quizzes he administers (Well, I had met him before, but not really.)

And I kind of assumed that birthday parties diminish in quality as one ages: nothing will ever compare to the fantastic day that was my 6th birthday party. Not only did we have a TEDDY BEAR PICNIC, but we also wore PARTY DRESSES and FANCY HATS to said teddy bear picnic. It was pretty much 6-year-old heaven.

So I came back from Geneva on the 13th of September, after exchanging a few e-mails with Lisa and Anthony, "We should do something for your birthday! But I'm busy. How about Sunday?" I had a vague impression that something would be happening Sunday despite the fact that my birthday was on Saturday, which as everyone knows, is the PRIMO BIRTHDAY PARTY day, especially if it is actually the day OF your birthday. I half-heartedly attempted to arrange something, but people were vague/busy/disinterested, so I gave up and decided that going to a war protest would have to suffice as a birthday celebration.

I went to the protest, my first protest ever. I ... am not a protesting person, but it was a liberating experience, and Sasan bought me a nice bumper sticker, so ... that was nice. The weather was beautiful. The crowd was energetic.

On the way back from the protest, Sasan insisted we go to Trader Joe's: "You SAID we could go to Trader Joe's!" ...what's the big deal? I thought. But fine, sure, we'll go to Trader Joe's. He bought nuts and chips and LOTS OF SALSA. Because he really likes salsa, and he goes through it so fast (?) Ok, fine. And I believe I made a comment on the way home about how I Don't Want To Have A Lame Birthday wah wah wah. I believe I also thought, Wouldn't it be nice if someday someone threw me a Fun and Exciting Birthday Party, with friends and family and food and if it were a surprise, wouldn't that be even better! Maybe next year.

We went back to my apartment to drop off the groceries, and I still had the vague idea that we'd be going to Busboys and Poets later on for a Brazilian carnival thing. Sasan declared that it was a Persian tradition to clean up the house/apartment on one's birthday. "It's like starting the new year off, you have to clean your house. However your house is on the first day of the year, that's how it will stay the rest of the year and besides, it's not NICE to be in a messy apartment." And I protested. I don't want to clean my apartment I want to go do something who wants to spend their birthday cleaning the apartment that's so lame. But we cleaned despite my protests. And then he declared another Persian tradition: To take pictures on your birthday. We have to take pictures every year so that we remember the years blah blah blah. He says this to me, in my undone hair and ratty T-shirt. So of course, I go to change. I take my time. We don't have to be at Busboys til 10. It's like, 8:30. Sasan hurries me along: But no we have to go now because we have to walk to Busboys afterwards and we need plenty of time let'sgolet'sgolet'sgo.

He runs me to Dupont, where we took precisely one picture. I was annoyed: WHY ARE YOU WALKING SO FAST. GEEZ. He slowed down. "Ok, I should buy you dessert, it's your birthday. Where do you want to get dessert?" We were walking down 19th street. "Fondue!" I said as we walked by the Melting Pot. I love fondue. "Ok." He steered me in, and I protested, again. "Um, isn't this expensive? We can't just go in an order dessert fondue...um...Are you sure? We can just get ice cream." "Let's just SEE." He said.

So we walked through the dining tables to the corner. I was looking at the various fondue selections, the steaming pots on every table, the couples cuddling and feeding each other strawberries dipped in chocolate. Then I looked up and the first thing I saw were balloons...then I heard a crowd, "SURPRISE!" ...then I recognized Lisa, in the middle of the crowd, and I realized that I was The Surprised One. I was the surprised one.

And then everything made sense. Lisa didn't have a prior engagement. It was a foil to prevent me from planning anything on Saturday night. Sasan didn't need 5 jars of salsa. It was for the party afterwards, when we migrated from the fondue to my apartment. Cleaning one's house on one's birthday is a bogus Persian tradition (although cleaning on the new year is not.) And the picture ploy was just to get me to go willingly to Dupont. He had planned and executed it all, the whole program, designed to the last detail (he even e-mailed my parents to warn them in case they had conflicting plans with me.) He predicted my reaction to people's inquiries about what I'm doing for my birthday, knowing that I shouldn't think that everyone's forgotten, but I should think that it's really not that big a deal to them. He anticipated my reaction to friends', "What are you doing to celebrate?" verbatim: "I guess we're doing something Sunday night...?" He combed through mass e-mails to find friends' contact information.

Sasan gets the gold star.

Carolina brought a decadent chocolate cake, Melissa brought balloons. Anthony brought paper plates. My cousin was there, Kutaiba was there. They had all arrived on time (we had not: I took too long figuring out what to wear.) and were waiting to celebrate MY BIRTHDAY. Because they are the best friends ever.

Carolina, Leila, Azucena, Katie, Melissa, Me, Sasan (Project Manager Extraordinaire), Lisa, Christina. The photographers: Jason, Anthony