Birthdays
Birthdays are awkward. Especially your own. To want to celebrate it makes you an attention whore. To ignore it is a depressing hermit feature. Birthdays change so much as you grow up. When you're five you get the cool party hats, princess decorations, and blow horns to commemorate the next year of life. Thirteen brings you to the magical age of teenage-dom (a kingdom that I am now no longer considered a part of) and you still gather your friends for a pool party. Sweet Sixteen is ostentatious to celebrate the fact that you have been given legal access to a dangerous machine. Eighteen is the time that you buy cigarettes just because you can or blow all your birthday money at the casino (Oakes can relate, he's been on a casino kick recently) and then go to the club to see what it's all about. But by the time you've reached the older years, big giant celebrations aren't really on the agenda. At least not for me. I started off my twentieth y...