Okay, I think I’ve made my point – I’m twenty-five “We get it!” they all say. Unfortunately not everyone could be in town on my birthday so I had to have some celebrations on “Island time” meaning “whenever”. But it’s all good, whereas most people get a birthday I get a birth week!

On Monday a bunch of my friends and family including my buddy Dave, sister Angelina, cousin Jennifer and friend Carmen threw a wonderful little birthday.

Everything was to my satisfaction: the party decorations were orange, my favourite colour, and the writing on the balloons was in proper Canadian spelling. Dave bought me a cake from my favourite cake shop “Cupcakes”, Angelina and Jennifer bought me a very expensive leather Italian notebook. As a writer there’s fewer things more gratifying than inking a few words in a book that smells like a classy department store which is second fiddle to arbitrary character assassination.

Dave and Angelina made a wonderful spread of food, which I ate, and provided some wine, which I drank. I only had one glass, however. At Dave’s birthday last month I drank two bottles and barfed it all up in his bathroom toilet an hour later. Why don’t these wine labels have warnings? Maybe it was in French or something… anyways, while we are on the topic of alcohol Carmen bought me a six-pack of Sleeman’s Honey Lager. Dave, Carmen and myself each had a can and I brought the rest home. I woke up at 2:00pm the following afternoon and was starving. I had nothing in my fridge but leftover cake, empty pizza boxes and some suspect lunch meat. Not feeling inclined to go out of the apartment I decided to drink three cans of beer for breakfast. My friend Britney told me that it might make me feel “giddy”. I was feeling a bit down so I thought I’d give it a shot. I drunk dialled the ex who was highly amused by my state of inebriation. I then went for a stumbly walk to McDonald’s where I ate two of those ghastly double cheeseburgers – the only cheap things left since they got rid of those McDeals.