Important Lessons Learned on a Birthday Weekend

This weekend, I turned 23.

I woke up Saturday morning and Robbo was like, “One year older!” and I was like, “and none the wiser!” because it’s true. Being out of school has made me infinitely stupider. Is stupider even a word? I don’t know. Pretty soon, I’m going to be this guy. (Right here I’d planned to have a picture of a really stupid-looking man. However, when I Google-image searched “dumb man,” this was the second hit. So, I’m gonna go with it.) Like I was saying, pretty soon I’m going to be this guy:


But, I digress. The point is, when I said “none the wiser,” I was wrong. I learned all kinds of useful things this weekend. I hadn’t planned on making a big deal of my birthday; in fact, I was a little bummed on it and had just planned on doing what I would normally do (which, in this case, was going to KSWA, amateur wrestling in Lawrenceville, but just getting much drunker than normal.)
So, things I learned: when the following strange things happen, there is probably a surprise birthday party in your near future:

- when your two cynical, Southside-hating cousins suddenly seem really psyched on the idea of drinking at a bar on the Southside, just after they stop at our house to pee.

- when cars belonging to all your closest friends are parked on the street near your house.

- when none of your friends seem even remotely disappointed that you aren’t planning to do anything for your birthday.

- when your boyfriend, with whom you live, seems to have lost only one key from his ring of many keys—the key to the front door of the house.

Yeah. I was surprised! I’m so gullible. When I’m drunk, you could tell me you were the queen of England and I’d probably kiss your hand. It’s terrible.

So thanks, Kacyn, Ali, Robbo, anyone else who was in on the planning of this. I really didn’t understand what was going on for most of the night, seeing as how I put down a 6-pack of Iron City before I even got there. (Don’t you dare judge me, it was my birthday!) fortunately, someone (probably James) decided that I was probably tired, and gave me a Sparks. So now I was drunk, hyperactive and probably offensive.

On that note, I also learned another important lesson: if you must vomit low-sodium V8 all over yourself, do it as you’re getting into the shower. Because, you know, you were headed there anyway.

Pictorial tomorrow, I promise. I was having some camera issues.