Another weekend down, another one of Vincent’s birthdays. This year we didn’t raise hell, we didn’t get kicked out of any classy establishments, and my ‘pimps and ho’s’ idea was unceremoniously tossed aside in favor of our all-too-regular cold weather gear.

So we ate out at a nice restaurant and then we went to a bar called The Remote Lounge – this place which is outfitted with cameras covering every angle of the building. You can spy on other people, talk to the man/woman of your choice using the phone attached to your video monitor, or put on a show-stopping burlesque show of your own. I, of course, was not feeling the voyeur inside of me, nor was I in touch with my inner man (most of the cameras seemed to find their way to the breast region of every female in the place), so I didn’t necessarily enjoy myself. Yet I did get phone calls from several unidentified men – and I didn’t even have to make out with a girl or jiggle my boobage!!

Well, at least Vincent thoroughly enjoyed himself. Let’s just say The Remote Lounge is like a little slice of heaven for my baby boy…so much so that he dragged his sorry, Red Bull and Grey Goosed tuckas into the house after 4AM!

Of course, Vincent’s friends were out en force: David L., Starr & Doug, Dara & Mark, Kathryn, Hunter… if your name is not on this list, it must be because you are not a member of the elite inner circle of the Vincent Cult. I’m sorry, maybe next year. Or maybe for his 40th birthday.

Did I mention age? My baby turned 35 today! Superbowl Sunday and not only is he 35, but he’s hung over as well. Good times, no?