Of Birthays, Cake, Jesus, Little People and the Prospect of Hell

Birthdays are a reminder, not that we are getting older, but that we are growing farther away from the expulsion from our mother's uterus and other lady parts. There are some days I just want to get back in there. Wait... no... I don't want to feed my mother's clam my bracciole, but rather go back to the simplicity of when we were just born and everything was done for us. Nothing makes a birthday more sober than responsibility. All the things we have to be doing and need to do for our life to go on. I'll tell you what helps make a birthday better. Cake. Ice Cream cake to be exact. Do not waste my time with angel food and or anything of the like. Do not even look at me if you want fresh fruit involved in a birthday cake. It better be frozen and filled with chocolate crunchies separating two separate but equally important layers of delicious, creamy ice cream flavor. If it was up to me, my wedding cake would've had 12 Fudgie the Whales artfully tiered on one another. Some Fudgies would have had on a tuxedo while some a wedding dress (with veil). It would have been beautiful.

I just turned 27 and, while I'm happy in love, I'm not totally in love with how my time is spent. Jesus had it right... he waited until he was 30 before taking on responsibility. Then again, he only lived to 33½ and was allegedly in much better shape than me. Maybe I have only 6½ years left. Considering the way I eat and remain sedentary, that actually wouldn't be so bad. But what have I done with my time? We all waste so much time working and providing for ourselves and family that we lose out. Or are we working so we don't lose out? Either way, I want to have an adventure. I want to find a town like in Footloose and teach them how to dance and not be afraid of change. I want to run for political office and make promises I have no intention of keeping. I want to defend a small third-world nation's water supply and a horrible flesh-eating illness by wearing a plastic bracelet and a ribbon. I want to honk because 1. I am horny, 2. Jesus is my Co-pilot, 3. I hate reading bumper stickers, 4. I want to see your middle finger. I want to drive cross-country and eat at every greasy spoon I come across. I want to be in a movie that shows my bare, hairy ass for the world to take in and enjoy/become ill. I want to have sex with a midget. Sorry, that was not right. I want to have sex with a little person. My time frame has sadly already closed on that one (love you my beautiful wife!). Now I know what your thinking: what if my wife loses her legs, would that count? No. It wouldn't. I now want to have sex with a legless woman... in a wheel chair. I want to avoid hell. Maybe I should just be happy with my ice cream cake....

Happy birthday to me.