It’s a holdover state of mind from my childhood, but today it retains a small bit of the truth that it did on June 5, 1987. The saddest sentence I can say is “It isn’t my birthday anymore.”
Now hold that thought.
In case you haven’t been keeping up, I went to Las Vegas last week with Spencer and some other newly-minted 21-year-olds. Short-term win: I scored a $138 jackpot on a single spin on a penny slot. Long-term loss: I’m as sick as a sick fuck on St. Sick’s day. God surely is punishing me for heading to Las Vegas again — the third time in three years — and I think Sin City and I need to look a permanent separation.
But that was last weekend. Fill in the following weekdays with a combination of finishing my bookstore job, more or less, starting my new one and fighting the mucous menace that is currently residing inside my throat. You’ll get a rough approximation of what the recent past has been like. Thus, no posts. Thus, no Vegas pictures up yet. Thus, a lack of Drew in general.
This poses an especially awkward problem for The Back of the Cereal Box. You see, Now I feel like I’m backlogged on updates and that I have to give some grand reason for the delay — like some especially magnificent feat of bloggery or something — in order to once again initiate the regular flow of lesser posts that generally populate this site.
It’s not going to happen.
For whatever reason, I can’t muster much will to write, though I will sure try. In lieu of any magnificent feat of bloggery, I will merely recap my birthday weekend.
On Friday night, the stuff that’s been coming out of my head started doing so in shades of green or orange, depending on its mood. We stayed in in order to wake up on time for the dog parade, which I’ve managed to miss every year I’ve lived in Santa Barbara, regardless of my undying love for dogs. We did, in fact, make it to the parade. I have pictures. They will be up by the end of the week, I swear. We filled the rest of the afternoon up with two gifts — a new Mario Party game and a chin-up bar, because that, in a sense, is who I am — then we added alcohol and continued playing with Mario Party and the chin-up bar. Some bruising occurred. I went out that night with a group of people that I just recently realized make up my present group of friends. We managed to evade hangovers Sunday morning and made it up to Seven Falls. Neither Spencer nor Holly had ever been there before. We were attacked by a swarm of ladybugs. Hundreds. Literally hundreds. They even bit me, the little bastards. Holly took pictures. With her phone. Then she cracked her phone.
Now I’m home, trying to pick away at the heaping pile of work I have in my imaginary inbox and failing. I’m still sick, but all the better for successfully putting another birthday behind me. Fun, stress, drunkenness. All that.
Here’s to more productive blogging in my twenty-fourth year. And here’s to another year of inhaling, exhaling, blinking, circulating, jaw-clicking and constant fingernail growth, with all of it ultimately leading to another fast-paced, minorly stressful but overall successful birthday on June 4, 2007.
Oh, and a big thank-you to everybody who wished me a happy birthday.