Birthdays are supposed to be a time of joy, celebrating a person’s life and continued good fortunes (get out of here birthday cynics, don’t @ me). Whether you go full diva, or just have a quiet dinner at home with friends or family, birthdays are supposed to be fun. Sometimes that fun comes at a cost. Last year I went out for a birthday with a group of friends in NYC; we all drove in together and stayed in a hotel in Manhattan. The plan was to go to Barcade (that place is awe

“You Bitch!” The words hung there for a moment, a single exclamation hurled out with impunity, meant in jest. I thought nothing of it, since who hasn’t said much worse playing video games, even in mixed company. But you should know your audience, and in this case I was mistaken in mine. The day started as normal as any other, with no indication of the events to come. My friend, let’s call her ­­­­Cassandra*, invited me to come hang out with her and her brother, call him Chris