Hey, every search bot, Annika Sorenstam nude hopeful (Still hoping, after all these years! You have to admire that), and one or two actual readers, it's my birthday!
This day in my history:
2004: I forget. My short-term memory is shot.
2003: My wife makes me go to someone else's birthday party. I'm still pissed about that.
1999: Ah, the flu. It's what makes the Northeast great!
1998: My last birthday in Texas. I think we ate Mexican or something. Not a Mexican, silly, Mexican food.
1993: My last birthday as a single idiot. I distinctly remember something about Miss January.
1988: I turn 21. I celebrate by doing 21 shots of Snapple. I'm a wild man, I'm telling you.
1983: I spent the day puking my guts out after drinking cherry Kool-Aid and apparently tainted Wise Bar-B-Q potato chips. It looked like the shower scene from "Psycho" was filmed in our upstairs toilet bowl.
1979: Yet another birthday while on Christmas break. Nobody ever baked me no freakin' cupcakes!
1975: I get like three kids to my birthday party, and they're only there for the entertainment. Well, it was Foghat, so I'll give them that. Actually, I told them it was Foghat, when it was really my brother lip-synching to his 8-track player.
1973: We go over to my Grandma's apartment, where she gives me a knitted wool hat. I get her back years later by giving her a 6-outlet surge protector for Christmas.
1970: My birthday is forgotten by my arch-conservative parents in all the "Thank God the 60's are finally over" hub-bub. Well, I certainly didn't remember it, anyway.
1967: At 11:54 PM, I finally slide on out. Gotta keep them in suspense.
Anything prior to that, of course, is immaterial.
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