It's my burffday!

Not a particularly meaningful one really. I get no license or insurance break. I have been able to rent a car for a while. It really is a meaningless birthday. Though I did discover this week when getting insurance quotes that I am still considered a "youthful" driver (read: a guy that is not totally gray), and would be considered such until 30. However, because my status changed from S-single to M-married, I get to jump ahead in time and am now officially a competent driver with age and wisdom... and lower premiums. Insurance is sexist. I digress.

On an entirely morbid note, I am relatively certain that one day I will die on my birthday. I am only about 50% kidding here. Alot of things seems to end on my birthday: coupons expire and special financing offers from car dealerships, to name a couple. Alot of people have died on my birthday: Knute Rockne, Anne Frank, Jesse Owens, Brandon Lee (son of Bruce), and cause celebre Terri Schiavo. It kind of freaks me out. When I wake up on April 1 of each year I breathe a sigh of relief. I have 364 more days to breathe the air, experience wonderful things, and live the dream. 364 more days to experience the wonders that the good Lord offers me. 364 more days with my best friend/wife. Maybe my birthday/death fascination is not so morbid afterall, it renews my license and outlook on life. It reminds me to try and live each day to its fullest since I may only have a finite number of days left.

Happy Birthday to me. And here's to another 364... if I can get through today! ;)