The Quarter-of-a-Century Step

I'm a quarter of a century old. And I'm kinda glad my birthday is over.

Not that I don't like turning older. 25 is much better than 15, or even 21, where I was this oddly shaped triangle trying to fit into the square peg that was college. And I'm very grateful for my birthday; spent it with wonderful people, had a wonderful brunch, a wonderful (though rushed) dinner at Dave & Buster's, had a great time at Assscat 3000 Improv, where Jack McBrayer (from 30 Rock... yup, 30 Rock) not only made fun of my dancing (you're turning the wrong way, Jacky Boy) but also (apparently) was impressed by my dancing (I had danced onstage for the audience. Because I was drunk!), and especially for ending the night with Cindy and Miia, two amazing people who (hopefully) will be in my life for many birthdays to come, at a rooftop bar overlooking the best view of New York ever. I loved Chelsea, I loved the presents I got, I love the family I talked to (I saved the message from my nephew), and I loved my birthday. But I'm glad it's over.

On your birthday every one expects you to have the BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!! It adds a lot of unwanted pressure and stress; like if everything doesn't go your way then your birthday is a FAILURE! Well, I believe the first, and most important, rule of being an adult is everything doesn't go your way, especially on your birthday. So I'm glad the unneeded stress of having the PERFECT BIRTHDAY EVER! is over.

I feel that life as an adult is mainly about satiating other people, even on your birthday, a day I kinda don't understand to begin with; my parents did all the work, so treat me to cake and presents. Yay! I could have slept in, but I went to brunch with a roommate; not totally selfless, as the brunch was delicious, but I woke up early nonetheless. Could have gone to see a musical, but people didn't have money, so we went to free improv, to which people invited other people. I need to let it go; so it's gone. 'Cause even on your birthday your going to get jabbed in the nuts by your roommate who thinks he's being funny but is just being... well, that guy you kinda knew from college that you said "sure, I'll have him as a roommate for a year. It's either that or some creepy guy from craigslist that I don't know who apparently wants to invite his friends over to shoot coke into their rectum or to play nightlong D&D. Or both!" That guy. You're constantly compromising, like having to eat your birthday dinner in line 'cause the cooks at the place you went to eat f*cked up your order so they had to make it again so you had to get it to go so you weren't late in line for an improv show. But that's good to know, because I feel those who think their birthday is all about them think their life is all about them. And, er go, they lead a very difficult, annoying-to-everyone-else-because-they-bitch-so-much life.

So I let it slide. Because in the end I got amazing presents/books from so many friends which I can't wait to start reading. I was made fun of (and admired by) Jack Mc-f*cking-Brayer from 30 Rock in person, I had an amazing brunch, I had a beautiful view of the city with amazing friends, I saw my parents, I talked to my sister, I talked to and got the best message from my nephew ever, and I have the knowledge that not only did I spend my birthday here in New York, but that I'm here to stay.

As birthdays go, this was a pretty good one.