From the Archives: "27"

I am 27 today.

Yes, again.



So, since I covered this the last time I turned 27, here for your enjoyment, a kernel from the archives:



27
I can't believe it. I'm finally that age. Like I'm finally that age where I kinda (gasp) don't care it's my birthday.

Whatev.

Seriously! I'm really not saying that out of some weird reverse psychology attempt to get flooded with pity, but I'm saying it out of surprise. Like, I can't believe I really don't care all that much.

Hahahahhaaa, well it's about frigging time!

I didn't plan anything, didn't agree to any plans, and certainly didn't manufacture stealth ways to generate gifts or attention. I kinda didn't really feel up to it, all the work. Coz it is work, campaigning and reminding and inviting. Blech. Too tired this year. Quite possibly, finally just too old.

So instead, I thought I'd reminisce about some birthday highlights, the few I can remember off the top of my head right now.

• 6th birthday. Mr. Burger... a fast-food chain that was neither Burger King or McDonalds. Just a wannabe. My babysitter was skilled at the art of crochet and made me this awesome poncho with a matching purse.




• 21st birthday. Snuck off to Colorado to be with my boyfriend. He took me out with his roommates where I had to beg the bartender to card me right at midnight. Got plastered on an endless string of Red Deaths. I vaguely remember a Kamikaze or two. Or five. Do remember thinking while I was later perched over the toilet bowl, "Wow, I was a much more responsible drinker before I turned 21."




• 12th birthday. Skating party at the rink on Oak Tree Road in Edison. Is it still there? Party continued into the night in the form of a slumber party. We stayed up watching TV, playing boardgames, and crank calling some poor guy named Rick who wasn't home, but there was plenty of tape on his answering machine when we got started.




• 25th birthday. It has to do with Katmandu and lots of inappropriate behavior of which I'm not sure what the statute of limitations are. I will just stop right there.




• 16th birthday. My parents threw a huge party, with a DJ. And I bought a cool pair of purple suede shoes for fifteen bucks at the Footprints in New Brunswick.




• 17th birthday. My driving instructor Larry made me get on the Somerville Circle and I was too mortified to bother hating him.
  



• 31st birthday. Had to drive to a wedding solo in Scranton... while nursing a hangover from the night before. Luckily Matt Sneed's wife was on hand to keep me amused (and lucid) before the reception, so we head to the nearest mall and make fun of people, even though we are both conspicuously overdressed.

OH YOU CAUGHT ME! I am SO not 27. But I'd like to think I was.

At least... that's exactly what I've been doing for the last 5 to 10 years or so.

27 was such a nice age. I don't remember how it began , what I did, or how it ended, but I always liked being 27. It sounded mature enough, but it didn't sound too old.

So there it is, that's what today is and shall forever be known as: "27, continued"

(and the answer is, "I don't know. Seriously, I don't remember, now quit asking!")

~ fin ~