What a Beautiful Day

Yesterday, February 10th, 2009, was my birthday. I'm sure some of you were oblivious to that fact while the rest of you only snapped out of oblivion because Facebook threw it up on your home page right above the "People You May Know" box. For the record, I think it should be the "People You Do Know but Don't Want to Associate Yourself With" because there's a reason I haven't added Kathy Green. I don't fucking know that bitch, and if I did, I forgot about her because she's worthless to me.

Kathy Green? Google Images seems to think so.

Sorry for that sidebar, back to my birthday. It wasn't just any birthday, it was special. Being that I was expelled from my mother's birthing canal in 1988, the beautiful Tuesday fresh in everybody else's memory (yet hazy at best in mine) marked my 21st birthday.

::Pause for the sake of my rejoicing readers::

It was everything I hoped it could be at points, and just like any other day at others. Going to the bar was cool, but I'm not really stoked to spend a lot of money so I won't be going that often in the future. The whole legality of the affair was pretty cool. No consequences at all associated with me drinking.

The coolest part of the day, to me, however, was going to the beer distributor. I've been to one before, with my dad or something, but this time was different. Shelves and shelves filled with all different types of alcohol. Ones with pretty labels, ones with black labels. Ones with names we all know, ones with names I can't even pronounce. I'd compare it to being nine years old and going to a candy store, one with every candy. The best part about it is that I can buy any of them, all of them. Maybe one day I'll start in one of the six-pack aisles and just grab a different one every time.

In closing, youthful readers, turning 21 isn't really all it's cracked up to be. It is, however, everything you hope it to be.

P.S. Yes, I'm a little drunk right now.
P.P.S. I don't envy youse's youthiness.