Huge Day

Ladies and Gents, its a red letter day.
The Man. The Myth. The Manilow turns 67 years young today!
Sadly, I received an email from more than one person telling me this. Sad, sad life.

Low point in life - a personal post

So here is a fun game for a Wed afternoon: I just took a quick looksie at my bank statement online. And hol.y. shit. it was depressing. Not depressing in a “I can barely pay my rent and debt collectors are about to come knocking on my door” kind of way (although that is certainly the case). But more a “there are 2 charges in one day at mall food court establishments” kind of way. In fact, in the last four days alone I had the following charges:

· Chick-fil-a (so worth it)

· Great Steak and Potato Company (wasn’t sure they still existed before Sat)

· Nick’s Riverside Grill (for your average Friday night vodka + douchebag combo)

· Mick’s “restaurant” (a bar connected to a Best Western in Stafford, VA…and yes, they did have an open mic night- how did you know?)

· Quantico Clubs (a bar on a Marine base)

· Restaurant 3 (no food. Just beer)

· Colonial Parking (Twice. Ya know, for the days its just TOO painful to take the bus one mile to my office)

There are several more along the same lines, but ill spare you as I think you get the point. Point being: I am a 21 year old guy trapped in a 26 year old girl’s body. One would think that by this phase in my life, I would act more like the successful, polished professional (haha) that I am. But no, I spend my paycheck on THE GREAT STEAK AND POTATO COMPANY, while my credit card bill becomes almost insurmountable. But don’t worry… at least I got my STEAK SANDWICH fix. Who am I? And more importantly, how am I still mobile without the help of a crane?

This bank statement would be acceptable only if I were in one of the following two groups of people:

· Teenage boy who just got his first fake ID and is going through a “growth spurt” while training with “2-a-days”

· Professional Eater training for the 4^th of July Coney Island hot dog contest (On a related note: I think this is definitely Joey Chestnut’s year to take home the belt)

But alas, I am sadly neither of these people. So I am going to close the bank statement, go home, and drown my sorrows in steak sandwiches.