Happy Birthday to Me

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Yes, it’s kind of the “Chris’s birthday is on Monday, shower me with comments!” post, though my observations this weekend stem more towards how much I really couldn’t care. I turn 26 on the 15th. 25 is really the last birthday you can celebrate as a milestone. From here on out, it’s just a ticking odometer.

13… yay, i’m a teenager!
15… yay, my permit!
16… yay, my license!
17… yay, R Movies!
18… yay, sex! Cigarettes! Porn! Sex!
20… yay, 20! Nice round number!

and then you wait a few years for 25, which is when your car insurance drops, and that sounds like a silly milestone, especially when you’re about to turn 21. Who cares about 25? I’m about to DO SHOTS WITHOUT FEAR OF INCARERATION. But then you get deeper into adulthood, and that bill getting smaller is such a victory. You want to throw a party around it.

But now, it’s 26. I do not know of a single law or code that differentiates between people above and below the age, except maybe the convenience stores that hang signs saying “Look under 26? We ID!” This doesn’t effect me at all, since people still peg me as being 22 or less. So, it’s an empty win.

The other reason I really haven’t gotten ramped up is because my birthday is on a Monday, when it’s impossible to party, and my weekend is booked solid with Really cool radio shows and other distractions. I hardly drink anymore anyways. (Somewhere, millions of bloggers screamed out in terror.)

Alright, enough of these shenanigans. I’m gonna go play a SNG.