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Celebrating my Birthday for the First Time in Six Years

Lookit that sad candle. So sad. So candle.

Lookit that sad candle. So sad. So candle.

This is not a “pity me” story. Depending on your personality, I imagine you will have read the title of this post and either gotten out a handkerchief to weep into or a garrote wire to… well, garrote me with.

Neither will be necessary, thank you very much.

December Ninth is coming up. I’m going to be twenty five. My freaking quarter-centennial.

Needless to say, I’m in a state of reflection.

To put it mildly.





You see, I’ve never understood why people get anxious about getting older. I’ve never wanted to be younger. I’ve always wanted to hurry up and get older so I could be the awesome adult I always wanted to be.

I get the anxiety now. Just a little bit. I think most people are afraid of getting older because it means the decay of their body and a reminder that the reaper has inched his way ever closer. For me, it’s a bit different.

Getting older reminds me that I already am an adult and I’m not awesome yet. Or at least, I don’t think I am. When am I going to hurry up and get awesome?

Sidebar over.

My birthday happens to coincide perfectly with college finals week.

Guess who is down to rage on finals week?

No one. That’s who.

Rather, no one I’d like to associate with.

And it’s not like it happens around mid-to-late finals week when most are over with and there can be some party time.

Nope. My birthday has always been the weekend of or the Monday of.

About the closest to celebrating my birthday in college was when Jinny called me up while I was in the middle of revising an essay about Euripides and offered to take me and her roommate (who shares my birfday) to the bar for birthday shots.

I then finished that essay two shots deep.

I live a wild and crazy existence, guys. Don’t get started on that biopic script just yet - I still own the rights to this pulse-pounding, crisis-a-minute, thrill-ride of an adventure I call life.

At any rate, because there was never a good time to celebrate in college, once I graduated I just kept not celebrating my birthday.

I don’t have a good reason as to why. It’s not like I have no friends. It’s not like there aren’t awesome bars nearby. It’s not like I don’t like fun.

The cycle will be broken this weekend. This Sunday, December Ninth… my birthday… I WILL CELEBRATE IT.


Whoa, whoa! Screenwriters! Put down the pens! You really don’t need to get a head start on that biopic.

Anyway. I’m turning twenty five. It’s been a nice quarter century and I felt like I should mark the occasion.

I’ll let you young’ns know what it’s like when I come out the other side.

- Gramps Drew, signing off

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