This was written the day of my birthday. The end is the aftermath.
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First of all....FUCK YEAH, I'm 21!!!
Ok good, I got that out.
Stayed up til midnight, and within 20 minutes of being 21, I was drinking a six pack of Great White on the driveway with my neighbor, David. We each had three for good measure, and argued about which constellations were which, and which of the dippers is the big and little one. Quite petty, but that's what we do best. Hit the hay at 2 am, and got up at 6:30 for class. Let's start this day.
It's just such a great day! I'm literally beaming with excitement, and can't stop smiling. Every light on my way to school was green, because they all knew I was celebrating. Thanks, street lights. Earth Wind and Fire on the radio telling me to "Party On." I mean, the radio said to, so I should probably do it, right?
Pretty sure my huge smile told everyone at school what today is. Just in such a great mood, I can't stop it! Sure, Professor, I'll hand out a paper to the whole class for you, I'd be happy to. Oh, you need me to do it again? Sure, I can manage that, seeing as I'm floating anyway, I won't even need to walk.
During the 4 hours of class, I can't stop cracking up, partly from excitement, and also from the birthday texts that are pouring in. Here are some of the best ones I got:
"You should get a black and tan at dinner. Your dad and your brother will think you have big balls."
"Nice dude, time to hit the bars and hit on cougars."
"My invisible amigo, happy 21st. I hope you get Huge tits all in and around your face."
"Have a wondrous bday lover, and I hope you get that bj"
"Happy birthday tits"
So many references to tits! YEAAHH TITS! What a great omen. Paradoxically, I'm more of a legs/ass man, but tits are always welcome in my face. Always.
All this vicarious celebration from others. I've never been into it, but I am fucking LOVING it today.
This stuff just made my day. I'm normally that cynical asshole who doesn't care about birthdays, especially my own. Good job, you lived another year. Here's your cookie, but we'll just call it a cake... NOT TODAY MUFUCKA! This is my day! WE ARE BUT MEN, ROCK! (Tenacious D)
Woke up to waffles with mashed strawberries, whipped cream and.... of course, the BACON. My mother is an absolute saint. And when I came home from class, in the best of moods, the house still smelled of delicious waffles and syrup. Heaven. I think the only thing that could have topped that welcome home, was if there was a beautiful naked woman waiting for me in my bedroom. Unfortunately, that was not the case, but the waffles were still quite pleasant. Of course, I went and made some Mac n CHeese for lunch. I mean, it's my birthday... I deserve it.
So many problems are solved! No longer will I be stuck in the predicament of "Who can get us booze?" Never again! And fuck you, MIP (minor in possession), I went two years without getting another one, and you can never get me now, you fucker! NEVAR! Sure, you can give me drunk in public, or something along those lines, but you sure as hell can't call me a minor anymore! No more quickly setting my beer down every time a cop comes near. I can finally tailgate in peace before football games. I can drive beer home now and not have to hide it under some blanket or other shit I have in the back of my truck. I can drive with anything under a .08 blood alcohol content.
Never again do I need to worry about the wrong person seeing pictures of me on facebook with alcohol. Go ahead and prove that I wasn't 21 in those pictures. Oh sure, the date is on the picture, but that's not hard evidence, those time stamps are always wrong. Suck all over it.
Finally.
So, not only is my birthday the 24th, but...Battlefield 3 comes out on the 25th! YES YES YES, I want more.
So far today, at 5:45 pm, I have drank a six pack, eaten strawberry waffles with whipped cream and syrup, sat through 4 hours of surprisingly fast classes, read Stephen King, eaten Mac n Cheese, responded to every single facebook wall post concerning my birthday, coached a bunch of lovable freshman punks for 3 hours, and I am about to go eat dinner with the family, and then hit the bars with my brother and company, dressed in Mad Men attire.
So, that first half was written two days ago on the 24th, with the intention of getting back on the 25th to finish the second half, to record my results of the night that was still to come...
Let's just say, the 25th was not a day for writing. Or eating. Or drinking. Or rugby practice. It was a day of vomiting and headaches.
