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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me

11.27.2005

I can't sing a long to "babba o'riley" the same way anymore

No more teenage wasteland, kids.

It's my birthday. Goodybe, teenage life; hello, purgatory known as one year away from legal--twenty years old.


So this is my big birthday post. Instead of writing my two papers, I'm going to write something in honor of the day of my birth. I'll start with the day I was born, the day I was 0, although it will all be second-hand information being that I don't have any memories of it. It was the first time I was the star of the show and I don't even remember it.

I was born on Thanksgiving Eve, and kept my mom in labor for 12 hours (I sure know how to keep a person waiting.) While my mom was in excruciating pain and doped up on whatever drugs she took to make the whole pushing me out bareable, my dad and sister went to get something to eat. Good for them. My mom always complains about having to spend Thanksgiving in the hospital, eating gross food, and I guess giving birth on Thanksgiving isn't the greatest time to give birth, although it does make a good birthday. I like to tell people Macy*s throws a parade in honor of me, even though they never believe me.

My mom wanted to name me Emily Maria (my mom liked the name Emily, and Maria is for my aunt), but my dad said it wasn't Irish enough. They agreed on Kathleen Maria, and they claim my sister, at 2 1/2, knew that the nickname for Kathleen was Katie and "named" me. It's bullshit, obviously, but I'll let them think I still believe that.


My family is infamous for throwing me the absolute wackest birthday parties. My sister's birthday is in May, making it the perfect time to throw tea parties and giant parties at Riis Park where all the neighborhood kids are invited. My parties usually went like this-- Clare Walsh and Marybeth Galvin would come to my house to play with Play Doh or we'd go see a movie, go get pizza, go to McDonalds. It always ended with presents and cupcakes, where I'd blow out my candle and make a wish (it usually involved Disneyworld.) As I got older and managed to make a few more friends my parents would treat us all to whatever holiday movie came out during Thanksgiving Weekend. Yipee.

I look back at these home videos and usually become very bitter about the shitty parties, but my mom tells me I never wanted anything else, and I guess she's right, because I always look so damn happy sitting at my kitchen table eating cupcakes. Who knew chocolate frosting all over your hands and face could bring so much happiness?

Not much has changed--give me some good friends and some good cupcakes and I'm tight.



It's currently 12:18. Nineteen minutes ago I was nineteen. Now I'm twenty. And I feel no different.

Twenty.

Twen-ty.

Wow.

I remember being five and thinking "wow, shucks, (I didn't curse back then), when I'm ten I'm going to be so old."

And when I was ten I thought, "crap! when I'm fifteen I'm going to be so old."

And when I was fifteen I thought "shit! when I'm twenty I'm going to be so old."

And here I am, but I don't want to think of twenty five just yet, because twenty five is scary. Because after twenty five is thirty and I don't want to think about thirty because it's just...it's just not cool at all. I'd rather think of the present, of being twenty.

I have a lot to be thankful for; plenty of support from my family and friends and tons of laughter to go around. I have a nice roof over my head and some sweet stuff to play with and a solid set of wheels to take me to an (expensive) college--not mentioning expensive in a bragging sort of way, just stating the facts of reasons to be thankful. I also have plenty of food and water and health insurance (you should never neglect thanking for the health insurance.) I'm doing better than around 6 billion people on this planet, so when I want to get on this thing and mope about, like, a lack of a digital camera, I should remember this fact-- I have it a lot better than most.

We all do.

And knowing that piece of information is my little birthday present to myself.

So thanks to everyone who make my life amazing, and have a very happy sunday, also known as my twentieth birthday.

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I wonder if my writing has even improved?