On that note, I realized the other day that materially I do pretty well in relationships. I'm not the type of person to just take and take and take, but for some reason they have historically ended shortly after my birthdays. Therefore, I get a good present every couple years (isn't love grand?). For instance, in high school I received Weezer's Pinkerton. I shouldn't need to mention how influential that album has been on skinny white boys everywhere. Most recently, I got the book "I'm a Lebowski, You're a Lebowski". The book is filled with wonderfully useless knowledge that any fanboy needs to know. The Dude abides.
At the same time, this has led me to another revelation: The relationships I have had ended shortly after my birthday. I'll admit for a while I was a bit melancholy. I couldn't figure out if it was a causual or direct relationship between my birthday and the breakups, like the relationship between fire and brimstone. I'll be damned to leave it to coincidence or fate to decide this dilemma.After a few brief moments of soul searching I (Above: My Second Choice) decided that the only explanation is that my birth was a phenomenal day. So impressive, in fact, that the girls became horribly jealous and petty. They knew deep inside their own hollow caverns of an excuse for a heart that they could never attain the boyish charisma and slight neuroticism that simultaneously makes me god-like and forces me to create these tepid excuses.
I can picture it now, shortly after my birthday, them pacing around a room wildly, like a bear caught in a trap. Considering it a 'fight or flight' moment, a royal rumble if you will, they chose to leave before their self esteems fell lower than the Dow Jones afer 9/11.
But man, those gifts were pretty considerate. Thanks again.
-Charles
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