I had a spectacular hazing into my twenties. As always, my day was abnormal, left much to be desired, and stumped me on the inner-workings of our dear departed universal thought glands. Despite the stigma surrounding birthdays, it felt like a normal day. I didn't get laid (which some may argue is not normal for dear Drea, but hey, I haven't gotten laid in a couple months, my friends), I drank heinous amounts of sparkling bitter alcohol by the name of beer, elected to play a game I'm not good at and continue to remind everyone playing that I am not good at it, drunkenly played on a play ground, and stole a watermelon from Safeway. What? Yeah. Haters gonna hate.
It began with brunch in the Mission at Andalu where I got Huevos Rancheros, because fuck it, I wanted Huevos Rancheros; I always want Huevos Rancheros... constantly in need of Huevos Rancheros. Somebody please get me some Huevos Rancheros! Mind you, I say Huevos Rancheros with a deep, sultry Mexican accent to further my exemplary appreciation for huevos rancheros. They were a'ight. The waiter said somebody complained about the salsa but I ordered it anyway, and hey, it tasted like fucking salsa. They don't bring you bread to start, they bring you fucking donut holes. Sold.
The rest of the day was pretty mediocre and not worth spewing out upon my blog canvas. Later in the night I got frustrated with the amount of people that didn't come, or even call me or text me or fucking facebook me a "hey, you're awesome!" or "It's your birthday, right?" Yeah. Fuck those guys. So I called up my home-girl and went on a drunken adventure through the blanket of night to squeeze out one little drop of memory from this failure. "Lets stop at Safeway, I wanna get you something." says Laurent; though when we got there, the fucking store was closed. There was a box of watermelons sitting outside. One left with me.