Patriarch With A Beer Bottle
I punched a baby once. Really. Yes, I was a baby as well but even then I knew I was the shit. I must have been a drinker early on, because I can't remember it for the life of me. That whole period of my life is just one big black spot and the more I try to think of what I did, the more babies I'm worried I didn't punch.
When I was ten I found myself lost in a downtown Los Angeles mall. My memory was better around this time, more so then when I was an infant, but I still don't remember much about it. Well besides the whole "stay where you are" thing they tell you is bullshit and doesn't work. I didn't move for an hour and 45 minutes while alone, but was with my family within 15 once I decided to find a security guard and tell him what was going on. First day I realized adults don't know what they are talking about.
At twelve I broke my middle finger in three places while snow sledding. My mother told me it was sprained. I looked at it and saw what I would later see in both Ashlee Simpson's nose and singing. A mess. I didn't cry at all, but I would have had I known that it would be the start of my body's life long urge to injure itself. It was also the start of my bodies urge to punch infants again, but I'm not aloud to talk about that due to legal issues that may arise.
At 12 I also think I touched my first breast.
At 16 I got kicked out of my first bar.
At 22 years, 363 days old. This past weekend. I reached the climax. The peak. I hope it's not true, but it was honostly a day that I sat there thinking, "how are we ever going to top this?" Really, how do you top perfection? From the first beer at 10:30am to the hockey game at 7pm and from being covered in stripper to being covered in liquor. I don't know what to say or how to describe it. Like everything I've mentioned before, this was a milestone. The greatest birthday I could have hoped for and I don't want to spoil it by trying to describe it. I just want to tell you all to be there next year. To be there with bells on. It will be epic.
When I was ten I found myself lost in a downtown Los Angeles mall. My memory was better around this time, more so then when I was an infant, but I still don't remember much about it. Well besides the whole "stay where you are" thing they tell you is bullshit and doesn't work. I didn't move for an hour and 45 minutes while alone, but was with my family within 15 once I decided to find a security guard and tell him what was going on. First day I realized adults don't know what they are talking about.
At twelve I broke my middle finger in three places while snow sledding. My mother told me it was sprained. I looked at it and saw what I would later see in both Ashlee Simpson's nose and singing. A mess. I didn't cry at all, but I would have had I known that it would be the start of my body's life long urge to injure itself. It was also the start of my bodies urge to punch infants again, but I'm not aloud to talk about that due to legal issues that may arise.
At 12 I also think I touched my first breast.
At 16 I got kicked out of my first bar.
At 22 years, 363 days old. This past weekend. I reached the climax. The peak. I hope it's not true, but it was honostly a day that I sat there thinking, "how are we ever going to top this?" Really, how do you top perfection? From the first beer at 10:30am to the hockey game at 7pm and from being covered in stripper to being covered in liquor. I don't know what to say or how to describe it. Like everything I've mentioned before, this was a milestone. The greatest birthday I could have hoped for and I don't want to spoil it by trying to describe it. I just want to tell you all to be there next year. To be there with bells on. It will be epic.
posted by Geoff at 10:43 PM
1 Comments:
happy birthday my man
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