Annnd…twenty-one years later, BLACKJACK!

So this is a very very post-post birthday, birthday post; however, when the birthday is a 21st you don’t fuck around with posting blogs when you could be out legally drinking beers and tasty alcoholic cocktails. Basically, everything was amazingly calm – not much like the kind of wildness you usually see at college – it’s not like you can pull out a good crowd of thirty friend when they are scattered to the four corners of the earth in fleeting attempts to tan.

I have a theory about birthdays. There are two types of people in the world and they celebrate two types of birthdays. Those whos’ birthdays fell within the school year when they were children tend to throw lavish and large parties as adults – they grew up with large parties with lots of friends in-town – plus the ability to bring cupcakes to class. Then there are the June, July, and August kids who had parties, but experienced the effects wreaked by the family vacations of best friends and summer camp. These kids become adults who throw smaller parties that focus on the tightest ring of friends and most important people, becuase when your born in the summer every friend counts.

My 21st was fun and I basically drank on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, on the sixth night I rested (mostly because my liver demanded it). The most startling moment came when the bartender at some bar would ask you for an ID and you didnt have to panic and leave the bar. And as I stood there pulling out my driver’s liscense with the picture of me at 15 and a half it hit me, after 21, what else is there? It’s not like I’m going to look forward to 30 or 40, after this it’s just retirement at 65 (and who knows if we can retire then anyway, by the time im that age it’ll probably be 85).

On a stranger note, my partents took me out for dinner at Garibaldi’s (on College Ave. in Berkeley) which was one of the best meals of my life. We had a cute waitress who my parents informed that I was turning twenty-one. The two of us spent the rest of the meal glancing at eachother in a vaguely come-on-ish way that made me feel guilty for playing visual footsie right under my parents’ noses. As we left the restraunt we passed through the bar (which is amazing and I MUST frequent when I am wealthy) and the host from the Discovery Channel’s Mythbuster show was having a cocktail.