I do not age gracefully...

Twenty seven is a painful age to be turning because it means I'm leaving my mid-twenties and entering my late-twenties. I usually pass these particular celebrations of decay more than mildly drunk. Last year, I challenged a 350lb friend to a drink off. In that he is more than twice my weight this was an interesting proposition. Despite the obvious disadvantage, I drank him to a truce 2 84oz pitchers of margarita, 4 long island ice teas, 2 seven and sevens, 2 amaretto sours, 2 rum runners, and 1 jack and coke later. Much dancing was had by all and much falling was had by me. When I awoke and could leave my bed the next day (~3:00p.m.), I found the furniture in my apartment completely rearranged and wreaking of cooked egg. Mind you I don't remember moving the furniture nor cooking eggs, but there was definitive evidence that I had tried to put on a drunken knock-off of Martha Stewart Living. Anyway, not so much this year. I'm to busy for such things right now, but maybe this weekend...