I can certainly say this much: my twenty-fifth birthday was far better than either of the two birthdays preceding.
Also. Yesterday I was listening to Aqua on my headphones, bopping my head around (as is my wont). You know, singing "I'm a Barbie Girl, In a Barbie Why is everyone looking at me?" I look up and take off the headphones and everybody was singing me happy birthday. With a Black Forest cake. Let me remind you, I have only been here for just over a week. And you know that someone went home and told the story about the cutest little dancing gay boy who had a birthday yesterday.
Plus, I had a party wherein I rolled around my new empty apartment with my friends. I discovered that I have forgotten how to perform a somersault and that I suck at dancing with a partner. My tremendous friends brought nibblies and drinkables, as I am currently too poor to feed myself, much less anybody else. Let me just say that enough was brought that somehow, through some mystical vagary of the power of liquor, I am still somehow drunk at the time of this writing. The ride in on the subway this morning was intriguing.
Additionally, I adore my new apartment, although I do not think I can recall anybody who did not mention that my spiral staircase will be treacherous in case of intoxication. (We tested this theory thoroughly.)
Now, I just have to adjust to saying, "Oh, I'm 25." Not terribly difficult, you might think, but I have a very stubborn brain indeed. In the meanwhile, I have a Cruel Intentions soundtrack to listen to.