Remember that feeling you got when you were little after your birthday party? I used to start getting excited about my party by July (my birthday's in September) and I envisioned circuses, clowns, a four-tiered birthday cake, and Elton John serenading me with "Tiny Dancer" at my party (ok I didn't know who Elton John was then, but in hindsight that's what I should have wanted). In reality I usually got pissy because I won "pin the tail on the donkey" but couldn't get a favor since it was my party and I needed to be a gracious host. After opening duplicate presents and spilling juice on my new pink dress, I usually ended up sobbing into my dad's lap because it wasn't nearly as much fun as it was supposed to be.
|I'll cry if I want to!|
So here I am, about to graduate college with honors, young and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and the world should be my oyster. Instead I'd prefer if the world were my all-you-can-eat raw bar, preferably paired with a large bloody mary.
|I see no downside...|