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First, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who managed to come to the party on the 22nd. Richard and Bettina, you didn’t drink nearly enough, but you provided me with reading material, so all is forgiven. Ryan J, I still can’t believe you only broke two of my ITG records; it’s surreal. I’ll try to enjoy your shot glasses, since they’re the first ones I’ve ever owned (at 30, go figure). Ryan D and Amanda, you should have stayed! I’ll try to get the blue robot in the Rock’em Sock’em Robots game to lose more evenly for your next visit, and thanks for the Lil’ smokies; they’ve been a great lunch for the past couple days. I hope we didn’t drive you too batty Justin, and I’m sure I’ll get tons of use out of Mario Party 8; party games rule! Thanks for coming up, Mom… now everyone knows my weirdness has a genetic component.

At precisely 11:16PM tonight, I’ll have persisted upon this world for a grand-total of three decades. To understand the true significance of this, I believe I should clarify.

I was born on September 18th, 1977 in Washington State, and since that day, life hasn’t taken kindly to my presence. Two months passed, and I went into congestive heart failure; not a heart-attack exactly, but hint enough I wasn’t meant to live. But they saved me, the doctors. I battled almost yearly pneumonia, two hernia surgeries, and a cracked skull, but somehow I prevailed. At the age of six, I was a battle-scarred veteran when most kids explored the wondrous flavors of kindergarten paste.

I never would have imagined, after meeting the man, that Patrick O’Lone would allow marriage to sully his reputation. But it’s true, and I’m happy for both him and Sarah. More Surprising, of course, is that Chris Murley is following his example a mere three weeks later. On September 29th, Hillary officially joins the disfunctional family I grudgingly left behind when I moved to Chicago. They’re all growing up so fast, it brings a tear to my eye.

Well, half of my kitchen sink is missing, stolen by the maintenance man for my building. Why? Because half the pipes were filthy, rusted amalgamations of leaky steel. My sink leaked, badly. Running any water through it, via dishwasher, or just through the main drains, would result in water dumping all over the storage area underneath. Judging by the pipes he showed me, this has been happening for months, and the previous occupant never noticed. I was clued-in by wet garbage bags and the fact that the bottom of the sink cabinet was warped crazily. Well, I guess it’s good I found it before things got really bad. I just hope the guy comes back tomorrow so I can actually use my kitchen sink.

It’s been a long week, and my vacation is finally over. Late Saturday night, early Sunday morning–either tell me it’s a weekend just like any other. I relaxed, I finally got the chance to enjoy Wicked, and I tooled around downtown gulping food I don’t deserve with a woman equally beyond my reach. I got drunk, I got sick, I had fun, and I’ve got little to show for it but some new rattles in my empty head.