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Vingt-sept (Monday, 2011 January 3)

January 3rd, 2011

On this, the occasion of my 27th birth, I thought it would be appropriate to look back at the last ten years and take stock of basically just how crazy I have been. Sure, there’s the impulse buys and youthful indiscretions, but I’m talking about real, reality-warping, you-ought-to-see-someone crazy. Some highlights:

  • couchsurfing Boston for a week to extract an apology from a friend.
  • believing that one of my friends was an alien from another world sent here to study human culture.
  • acting "only a little" anti-Semitic in front of a woman I was attracted to so that she wouldn’t like me for "the wrong reasons".
  • and of course, coming here to Africa.

And what’s even weirder is that there are whole other levels of crazy I haven’t even gotten into yet. Examples: I’ve never had a lesbian hookup in an Australian bar. I’ve never fired a gun. I’ve never changed my name. I’ve never run away to London. I’ve never even had a one-night stand (but, you know, working on that last one). By all accounts, I’ve led a safe and sheltered life, but living it, I’ve never felt either of those things.

Something mom said once was that someone who lives to 26 has outlived their crazy. And I guess, to an extent, I have. So, uh, now what?

Jenny points out that 27 = 3^3. That’s a good omen, I think.

P.S. Also, never got a tattoo. But Ryan has the word "PAIX" on his inner wrist, and Emily has two bars in the form of an equals sign on hers. So, give it time.

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