Sunday, February 06, 2005
Milestones
I am definitely 27 now. It probably won't keep me from continuing to get carded for R-rated movies, but it's a fact of life. Now I have to enter 27 instead of 26 when the treadmill at my gym asks me how old I am. I'm not really sure why it needs to know, but it keeps on asking. Maybe it's hitting on me. I could do a lot worse.
The birthday weekend has been a good one. About your standard amount of debaucherous and regrettable behavior, but this weekend my friends subsidized it. Since those bastards at the National Endowment for the Arts refuse to. My friend Liz made a delicious cake, and improved on last year's frosted greeting of "Happy Jay" with a more on-message "Happy birthday, Jay." My friend Meghan gave me a card with a picture of a kitty so hypnotically adorable I fear it must be subliminally training me to kill. And my friend Wade bought me the Tequila shots that nearly pushed me into Exorcist-style bouts of projectile vomiting. For my part, I made my justly famous chili-cheese dip and have been eating the leftovers all weekend, since I have no shame. You just haven't lived until you've had nacho cheese doritos dipped into two-day-old queso. You may tell yourself that you have, but you are in deep and profound denial.
Well, I've got to get going to a Super Bowl party. Because anyone who knows anything about me at all knows that I'm the world's biggest football fan. I'm just hoping Paul McCartney doesn't ruin it all by trying to take his top off. Think of the children.
I am definitely 27 now. It probably won't keep me from continuing to get carded for R-rated movies, but it's a fact of life. Now I have to enter 27 instead of 26 when the treadmill at my gym asks me how old I am. I'm not really sure why it needs to know, but it keeps on asking. Maybe it's hitting on me. I could do a lot worse.
The birthday weekend has been a good one. About your standard amount of debaucherous and regrettable behavior, but this weekend my friends subsidized it. Since those bastards at the National Endowment for the Arts refuse to. My friend Liz made a delicious cake, and improved on last year's frosted greeting of "Happy Jay" with a more on-message "Happy birthday, Jay." My friend Meghan gave me a card with a picture of a kitty so hypnotically adorable I fear it must be subliminally training me to kill. And my friend Wade bought me the Tequila shots that nearly pushed me into Exorcist-style bouts of projectile vomiting. For my part, I made my justly famous chili-cheese dip and have been eating the leftovers all weekend, since I have no shame. You just haven't lived until you've had nacho cheese doritos dipped into two-day-old queso. You may tell yourself that you have, but you are in deep and profound denial.
Well, I've got to get going to a Super Bowl party. Because anyone who knows anything about me at all knows that I'm the world's biggest football fan. I'm just hoping Paul McCartney doesn't ruin it all by trying to take his top off. Think of the children.
