It's June 19th, which means Happy Juneteenth, and Happy Birthday to Moe Howard, Lou Gehrig, Aage Bohr, Salman Rushdie, Paula Abdul, Garfield, Dirk Nowitzki, and me. Do celebrate accordingly. Hit a friend in the face with a wrench! Consider yourself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth! Describe the action of nucleons orbiting inside an oscillating rotating droplet! Defame the Prophet Muhammed! Say something positive and incoherent about an amateur singer! Catch some Lasagna From Heaven! Be a big German! Over-use exclamation points!
Much like Garfield, I had just one candle on my birthday cake to represent my age this year.
I have come a long way since my younger birthdays, when I would insist on having piping-hot stew for my birthday meal, even though it was often 95 degrees outside. Or when I broke up with my girlfriend the day before she had planned a huge surprise party for me. Or when I got a free birthday cigar at the Tobacco Loft, while my sister's boyfriend informed me that the store "smells like a fucking turd". Or even when I forsook throwing an actual party in favor of helping Cassie assemble IKEA furniture. Good times.
People sometimes ask me, "What do you want for your birthday?" I usually shrug and say, "The love of my family and friends is all I need." That is because it is far too sad to say, "A girlfriend."
Thanks to everyone who helped celebrate or sent birthday wishes. Those of you who didn't are on a list that I am keeping in a secret place, biding my time until I am strong enough to finally make my move. Ah, revenge! A dish, like leftover birthday pizza, best served cold!
Seriously, we have a lot of leftover birthday pizza, so if you want some, just give a holla.