Another year, another revelation

So I usually take some time around my birthday to reflect on my life, goals, and gold. I try not to compare my life to anyone else's partly because I'm supposed to measure happiness on my own internal scale, but mostly because I'm just pathetic and comparing myself to others would be a complete validation of my self-deprication.

Joking aside, after careful consideration, I've determined at 28 years old, I'm a complete fucking child. I spend most of the day deliberating on burritos and simple ways to vampire-proof a home (hint: Garlic Paint). Clean clothes are heaped on my couch because I'm too lazy to hang them up. Just last week I was late to work because I wanted to finish watching Saved by the Bell. The last woman I dated passed on me for a douche with a green faux hawk. I've watched Rudy so many times I can tell you that the go-ahead touchdown against Georgia Tech should have been denied for holding.

So yeah, I revel in the trivial. And it's not like I'm ashamed of it. I'm just kind of ashamed that I'm not ashamed. I'm 28 years old and I haven't made a truly groundshaking leap in maturity since I was 12. Even as I type this realization, my feet are warmed by slippers that look like mallard ducks.

Every day people seem to hint at me that I should be concerned. My sister is captain of the cross country team and number one in her class, my brother is geting married, my closest friends excel in their careers and watch better movies than I do. Even the mention of someone else's successes seems like a tacit suggestion that if I don't get my shit together soon I'll end up being sixty years old, wearing a Stocco jersey, and still barking at dogs I see in parked cars. So yeah, I can't blame the archaeologist who digs me up five thousand years from now and ignores the study of my bones for lunch because, fuck it, I wasn't Spencer Pratt. (Speaking of which, to anyone reading this, please make sure that when I die, I'm laid to rest in a boat with my sword and cast over a waterfall like Boromir so those dickweeds can't put my corpse in a future museum of the lame).

In the end I guess our time on earth is ultimately measured by how we feel about it. However, I think I would feel pretty damn good about being remembered as a cross between Einstein, Jesus, and Blackbeard. Hopefully by the time I reach 29, I'll at least be able to compare my life and accomplishments to Air Bud. That dog played varsity football when he was only five years old. What the fuck have I ever done?