To quote another Cool Kids’ song: “looked at the time and the iPhone said it was your [read: my] birthday.” While Chuck and Mike are talking about the birthdays of the bevy of beauties they know, the fact I have an iPhone and since 12 am this Saturday morning, anytime I check the time it is in fact my birthday. Symmetry for the win people. I don’t know what I want to do with this post other than to commemorate the fact I have turned a year older. I’ve finally reached the Michael Jordan of age, and like Kanye, my next goal is to get that Kobe number (1 over Jordan). OK, enough with the musical intertwining…
I can’t wait to celebrate my great friends today, and it all starts with this kickball tournament that Channing Frye is putting on out at Lents Park. From there, there is no plan– exactly how I like it. Nothing makes for better fun than spontaneity. The less I know, the more I know. Plus, nothing is more infuriating than having set plans and then those set plans crumbling quicker than the second little pigs house of sticks. Long as I can relive the glory days of elementary school by playing kickball and being the MVP I was and am still capable of being, my birthday will be a complete success.
My birthday should be a party, and I’m going to be more than pretentious and say, if you were looking for a reason to get down with the get down: do it for my sake. If you got those two dollars, go two buck chuck in the name of Clement because someplace else in the city of Portland I’ll be going HAM (with Provolone on wheat) with a stiff drink and a gorgeous girl in mink. It’s a jubilant day and hopefully I’ll see you, my friends, as I trek parts of downtown, or Alberta, or wherever my two size 9.5 black Air MAX 90’s with the lightning yellow laces take me.
For now I must dream and wonder how good this sizzurp Babs is making me is gonna be. About to be all 3 6 in this piece tomorrow, but no poppin’ of the collar… damn bromosapiens ruining polos for your boy.