Some people go drinking on their 22nd birthdays. Some go to Europe with friends. Some play World of Warcraft until 3am. I, however, decided to branch out a bit.

On Tuesday, my 22nd birthday, I turned eighty-two years old.

I know. The math doesn't quite seem to add up, but it's true. Somehow, I managed to skip through sixty years of life without suffering the effects of gravity on my boobs or gathering any wisdom along the way.

You see, I woke up on Tuesday, September 4th, 2007, and couldn't walk. I picked up a sexy hobble instead. This may be the result of going downtown Chicago for the annual Jazz Fest and getting shoved off of a sidewalk by drunk people and losing my balance and tearing an imaginary muscle in my foot . . . Or it may be the result of old age.

On Wednesday, I walked into my mother's office with the purpose of asking her a question. I forgot the question the second my mouth began to open. I stood there dumbly, took a candy bar from the basket on her bookshelf, and hobbled away. This could be because I'm absent-minded, or it could be a sign of old age.

Just yesterday, it took me five hours to notice that I had only painted one fingernail before going to bed. I can't even think of any other reason for this except that I'm getting old and senile.

I had to ask the tech guy at church this morning to adjust the new in-ear headsets the band was using because I couldn't hear very well in my right ear. This might be because I've spent the past eight years of my life playing piano on stage with a monitor blaring into my right ear, or it might be my old age kicking in.

If you stop by my house, though, and I yell at you to get off my lawn or offer to bake you cookies or attempt to knit you a sweater in primary colors, don't be surprised. Just get off my lawn, eat a cookie, and wear a sweater for your dear old granny, mmkay?

This past week was filled with a whirlwind of emotions. After I recovered from the shock of being employed and the shame of crying during my interview, I put all my energy into being as annoyed as possible that my boss wanted me to start this new job on my birthday, September 4th. Thankfully, that got old after a day or two, especially once the birthday presents started rolling in.

Jacob bought me the amazingly appropriate t-shirt on the left that says, "I'm blogging this." I now want one for every day of the week because it's pretty much how I live my life these days. Every moment is potentially a writing opportunity, which is something I actually really love about blogging. It makes you view each day as something special, even if all you do is sit on your ass and play The Sims from dusk 'til dawn.

Tyler, on the other hand, proved the usefulness of having a brain too big for his skull when he bought me the fourth season of "Samurai Jack" on DVD as well as Sondra "Golfwidow" Harris' fantastic and hilarious book, Getting My Think On. I never tire of Samurai Jack's mad skills, Aku's flaming eyebrows, Genndy Tartakovsky's brilliant animations, or Sondra's pure genius as a writer and her loveliness as a person. It's hard to have a bad week with that combination of awesomeness in your life.

I received a few other gifts, but I'll refrain from swooning over them until I find the time to take some accompanying pictures.

Oh, but wait! I actually did get a gift from a complete stranger today. The gift of plagiarism! w00t! Golfwidow, the same lovely woman who authored the book I received from Tyler, pointed out to me that this entry on Multiply looks a lot like one of my entries! Nifty! I've never had that happen before — well, not to my knowledge, at least — so I'm really not sure what to do about the whole thing. I contacted Multiply via the "report abuse" link. When I receive a reply, I can figure out how to proceed from there. (Updated to add: Oh look! Stolen entry versus original entry again! Neat. Looks like this person has a thing for Harry Potter entries.)

Meanwhile, I'll bask in the glow of my pile of real presents and thank the Lord that I have some of the coolest and most thoughtful friends on the planet. Much love, dearies!

Yesterday was a virtual disaster from beginning to end. Narrating the tale proved to be too long and ridiculous, so bullet points will have to suffice.

Why yesterday was a bad day:

• Didn't sleep at all during the nighttime.
• Trusted my mom to wake me from a nap (she offered), but she sent my dad instead. My dad says stupid things like, "Would you like me to come back later?" when he's waking me.
• Overslept massively.
• Didn't have time to shower. Had to wash hair in the sink.
• Got shampoo in my eye.
• Didn't have time to properly dry clothing.
• Went to an interview in damp shirts.
• Trusted my mom to pick me up for my interview (she offered), but my dad stayed home from work instead, leaving me his car to drive.
• Had to drive my dad's car, which I hate with an indescribable passion.
• Cursed up and down in a fit of frustration from the moment I woke up 'til the moment I arrived at the church for my interview.
• Was so tired and stressed and emotionally tipsy that I wound up crying during my interview with my pastor.
• Sobbed after the interview.
• Almost killed people while trying to drive and cry at the same time.
• Didn't even get the job I really wanted.

Why yesterday was an "okay" day:

• Got a job.
• Received lots of lovin' from the fine folks over at Twitter.
• Watched Lord of the Rings while chowing down on pizza and chocolate, pretty much an unstoppable combination of goodness in my world.
• Didn't have to pose for a stupid Obligatory Door Picture.
• Got to be ridiculously angsty while taking this picture instead: