Well, my 21st birthday has come and gone. It was a pretty uneventful day. I got a free dinner out with my mom, and the promise of a cheque of an unknown amount to do with as I please, which I am still waiting on. My dad's gift to me was my webcam, which I got a few weeks ago and am still digging.I'd like to thank a whole bunch of people for taking the time to wish me a happy birthday.
Many thanks to my favourite crooked-toothed, tea-sipping, yank-loathing, vodka swilling boy-toy, to the grooviest Ani-loving, sheepskin-wearing, multiply-pierced chick on Diaryland, and to the loveliest Beatles-listening, Cosmo-reading, excessive-hair-dying wanna-be cop I know. I'd like to thank them for the e-cards, they were amusing, heartwarming, and/or vulgar, and brightened my day.
Thanks to Julie for being the only person to actually get me something on my list ... a guy! Granted, it was a virtual one, but I forgot to specify, so she still gets credit for that.
Thanks to everyone who e-mailed me, ICQd me, or signed my guestbook and wished me a happy birthday. Thanks Mechy for the birthday insults, and thanks Quiet for the birthday porn (incidentally, I prefer Girls Gone Wild videos to granny porn, but it's the thought that counts).
Thanks to Boi for the guitar playing, and NO, I was NOT lying to you when I said you were good, and if you say it again, I'll slap you silly.
Whew. I think that about covers it.
So I'm 21 years old. It really doesn't feel any different. I remember when birthdays used to make me feel like a changed person ... when I was a kid, being a year older was a big deal, because a far larger percentage of my life had just gone by. The older you get, the less significant each year seems. In fact, if I didn't occasionally need to write the date down on cheques, documents, and such, I'm positive I'd be unaware of what year it was most of the time. In fact, once I left school and wasn't having to date assignments anymore, I found myself having to stop and think a moment to figure out the year when it was required of me.
Maybe one day I'll end up like my dad. When he still lived with my mom and I back in Burlington, once he reached his mid-forties, he would regularly turn to us and say "How old am I? Am I *insert age here*?" ... and he'd usually be off by a year, give or take.
D'oh.
Oh hey, remember how in this entry I asked if anyone would draw me cartoons? Well, much to my surprise, someone was actually kind enough to do it. How cool is that? They'll be posted in the next entry, most likely.
Anyway, another year hath begun for me. Stay tuned to see how it goes.
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