April 18, 2009.

To say I had been dreading this day is an understatement. When Rob said he was going to jump out of a plane for his 25th birthday, I was neither surprised or worried. I mean, the guy nearly lost his life just from crossing the street. Hurtling 125 mph towards the Earth is probably a safe haven for him. But when Rob invited me along, I was paralyzed with fear at even the thought of it.

In fiction, if a character doesn't want something to happen, then in all likelihood that thing will happen to him. That makes a good plot. So I told Rob yes. I agreed to tandem skydive from a mile above the Earth. I wanted a plot device, damn it!

To top things off, Rob asked me to paint his face as a clown before the jump. If there's anything I hate more than heights, it's clowns. Those grinning red lips on that white face might have just been the last thing I saw before I fell to my doom.

But oddly enough I didn't blame him, which wasn't the reaction our buddy Mike had. "I hate you, Rob," he repeated throughout the drive to Gardiner. He was coming with and volunteered to jump out first. I went second.

I was lucky enough to be partnered with the dive master Jorge Rodas, who managed to get me in gear and prepped fast enough to suavely mingle with some of the ladies on the ground before takeoff.

And I loved how my camera guy, Pete O'hara, was eating a turkey sandwich right before the jump. He also managed to keep everything PG despite all my efforts, converting "sweaty balls" into "sweaty palms." Not to mention the number of profanities I hollered while falling that he casually covered up with the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

The ride up, I felt remarkably calm. It didn't hit me until my feet reached the edge. I was about to jump out of a plane! My eyes started to roll back into my skull. The next thing I knew, we were flying. And then all I saw were my two arms before me, touching a void of white as we fell through a cloud. I didn't have a thought in my head. Despite my yelling, it was the most peaceful moment of my existence.

When Pete caught up to us, it all turned surreal. Because we three fell at the same rate, it was as if we were all suspended in space and it was the ground that was jutting towards us. Before I knew it, we reached 6000 feet and Jorge led my hand to pull the chute. The entire free fall felt so relaxing until then. Word of caution, gentlemen: watch your balls!

We did a few dizzying 360 spins on the way down. The view was breathtaking -- like I was playing Sim City in high def. The landing went smoothly, and I was so excited when I saw our chute was pink!

Twenty minutes later, we were out of there, DVDs of our adventures in hand. I had thought I'd leave a better person, one who appreciated life more, and be glad for what I got. But instead I left with more desire than ever. I wanted, first of all, to take a really big dump. And then to dance the night away, which was great because there was a party at Rob's waiting for us and only the New Jersey Transit in our way.

Happy birthday, Rob! You dick.