My 25th birthday fell short of expectations. As I think many birthday’s people have do.

I mean, I’m 25. The average person lives to be about 64. If I were to die at 64, that’s means I have 39 years to live my life to the fullest.

A friend sent me this quote the other day.

If you needed further evidence that professional athletes have it better than the rest of us, look to the phenomenon that is the champagne celebration.

Seriously, in what other life achievements are people routinely doused with expensive (and inexpensive) booze? I haven’t been to one wedding where the bride gets drenched with a can of Miller Lite. I haven’t seen one real-estate agent pour a cold bottle of Korbel down the back of a new homeowner.

The Indians drenched each other with about 120 bottles of champagne and countless bottles and cans of beer in their messy, euphoric celebration of their American League Central crown Sunday afternoon. And frankly, I don’t see why similar parties can’t be thrown by, say, doctors who perform successful appendectomies.

And it got me thinking because, I mean, that is the ultimate act of celebration. Maybe if birthdays were celebrated in ways that truly exemplified how people wanted them to be spent, then we might feel less horrible about getting older and dreading the days of our birth past the age of 21 (in America at least.)

It was a nice time, full of scorpion bowls, drunken dancing, giant penguins and surprise cakes.

Ways it could’ve been better?

• Sex
• Party thrown at a club
• Surprise party
• Stripper
• If all of my friends were around
• If more asian men attacked eachother
• Sex

• 

• Giant Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade type balloon modeled after me floated down Boylston st.

Also, this strip sums up how I feel on my birthday usually, (including the phone call).
Brought to you by, Penny Arcade.