He’s gonna remember this birthday prank forever.
I really can’t care anymore because, according to my ma, I only have about 20 good years left in me.
Did she deserve it?
You can call me for anything.
I said the most logical thing I could muster: “I want to go to a strip club.”
“How am I still fighting acne?”
“Being 27 is parallel to being a newly post-pubescent teenager; so many feels, so many conflicting emotions, so much self-inflicted pressure. At some point, it’s just easier to pray you make it to 30 in one piece and resolve to figure it out from there…”
Hard alcohol, whiskey and vodka, specifically, render me useless. I will not be myself for at least 24 hours and should just be left alone.
Just the other week when I was at the pharmacy, I had to give my birthday to confirm my identity, and the woman looked at me and asked if I ever wanted to change my birthday.