Man of the Quarter-Century

Today was my birthday. I turned 25. I can now legally rent a car on my own.

Having a birthday so close to Christmas is not as big a deal as some people think. Since the Christmas season is already in full swing, relatives and friends are often in a very giving mood. My birthday is also a good trial run for any sub-par gifts that may have been purchased. Was my reaction to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweater-vest less enthusiastic than you expected (though I don't know why it would be)? Well then, Christmas is only ten days away, and you can make up for it then. (Hint: earmuffs shaped like Spock ears)

This is actually the first year that I really got to celebrate my birthday on the actual day. For as long as I can remember, December 15th was the nexus for school-related obligations. In high school, the Christmas band concert fell on December 15th every year. In college, I always seemed to have a final either on my birthday or early the next day. College professors are notoriously hostile towards "I didn't want to because I was too busy eating cake" as an excuse for not showing up to a final.

The present I got this year was a nice new coat. It's black wool coat that actually makes me look like an adult. Fashionable folks may call it a pea-coat and label me a pretentious douchebag for having it. But I look fucking good in it, and I was sensible enough to avoid asking for a scarf or emo-glasses to complete the ensemble. The coat is from London Fog, and it's warm, comfortable, and stylish. The simple elegance of its sleek design belies the cozy warmth that only a genuine London Fog garment can provide.

[London Fog representatives can make their checks payable to "JP" for this endorsement.]

Part of the fun of celebrating a full quarter-century of living is taking stock of one's life. I can recall some major milestones:
1983: JP is born. Sales of joke books in Pittsburgh skyrocket as doctors hurry to find witty comments to make at the expense of the giant baby in the maternity ward.
1986: JP gets a Teddy Ruxpin for Christmas. The chilling voice of that cursed bear still haunts my dreams.
1988: JP goes to Kindergarten. Blames friend for breaking computer even though he was the one who put the disk in backwards - first sign of his complete lack of scruples.
1990: JP enters the new decade completely unaware that he wouldn't discover the awesomeness of 80s music for another decade.
1992: JP moves from Ford City to Kittanning. New town has same smell of failure as old town.
1996: JP enters puberty. Kleenex sales skyrocket.
1998: JP goes to high school. JP begins publishing his own "newspaper" to amuse his friends with such riveting stories as "Joe is Gay!" and "School Cafeteria Puts Poop in Chili." Maturity level has not improved in ten years.
2001: JP takes over band website. JP starts internet jijad with Ford City by making inappropriate comments about their band members and insinuating that their performances were subpar. I was a fucking rebel!!
2002: JP graduates high school -ranked tenth in high school class. Currently, JP is the only one in his high school top ten to be unemployed!
2002: JP goes to Penn State Erie for college. Decides to try to be an engineer. Realizes that being an engineer requires giving a shit about engineering. Drops out of program.
2003: JP choose "English" as his undergraduate major. In an attempt to prevent the horrible events that this choice will create, Future JP goes back in time and changes the Major Declaration form to read "Super-Lucrative Business," but a clerical error keeps the plan from working.
2004: JP kills God.
2006: JP creates THE UNDESIRABLE ELEMENT. The blogosphere trembles!
2007: JP is accosted by a hobo on the Rail Trail, foiled by the Morgantown traffic court, hit on by a gay man, and he discovers that the turducken exists.
2008: The year that THE UNDESIRABLE ELEMENT will start making millions of dollars in revenue!

That's a pretty sweet life. You don't need do-overs when you once owned a Teddy Ruxpin!

So while I hope that the next 25 years promises money-dollars, a few good jobs, and perhaps something resembling a wife (inflatable and/or Russian mail-order will suffice), I certainly won't knock the life I've already had.

But who knows? Maybe in the next 25 years, I'll lose enough weight to be able to safely jump out of an airplane. A man can dream!

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Brought to you by Spock-themed Ear Muffs - keep your ears warm while still saying to the ladies, "Hey, I don't need you when I can channel my inner Vulcan while I pretend to explore the ice planet Hoth!"