His name is Karma.

It might be good and bad Karma.

The Karma broke things off with the girlfriend and I didn’t know if I should feel bad or if I should feel smug and high-five all the women in the world who has been cheated on by their boyfriends. Whichever is worst? There wasn’t even any feeling of gratification there. Just, uh, happy.

 “Look, shit happens.”

Let me sit back and watch the barrage of hate speech, the nitpicking insults, the grabbing of photos and posting them somewhere.

Bring it ooowwwwn.

Sneaky, low-key and smug. I have become selfish and horrible and every inch of a bitch. Somebody stab me with a lightning ray. Oh, God. I didn’t know stealing could be this much fun.

I’m going to go get my mug shot soon.

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My favorite brat

My youngest sister called me in the middle of the night, bawling.

“What’s up?”

“It’s a nightmare. P-please. Tell mom. I have to s-stop school.” She said between sniffles.

I sat up straight on my bed. “What?! What happened?”

“Frogs! In Biology class! They didn’t tell us something like this would happen in college. It’s horrible.” More bawling.

“I do not understand you.”

“You h-have to tell mommy. I-I can’t tell her!”

“You’re quitting school because of frogs!?”

“They are ALL OVER THE ROOM! They are so ugly!”

Rewind four years back in laboratory class. “My BIO class wasn’t that bad. They pin them frogs down, you know.”

“They jump!” She shrieked. “They jump and hop and oh my Lord, the experience is so horrible I want to die!”

“What did you do?”

“I poured formalin on them before they even get to me.”

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26 isn't that bad.

I thought to myself that whenenever I go past 25 – that’s it – people are no longer going to want me. Twenty-five is like reaching the zenith of your nubility and being anything past it is um, a pariah.

See those signs at bars? WANTED GIRLS 18-25. If they fish around for my ID, they’d realize that I’m just a few days past 25 years old and shoo me away. The horror.

Of course, that would perhaps be the shallowest thing I could think of. (Shut up, it’s my birthday, I’m shallow-authorized) Just because bars no longer wanted to employ women – bah.

I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t been that emotional on his or her birthday and emotion is something I might have to parlay with a month’s salary if I ever get to run out of it. Overdose, mind you. Too much estrogen kills you.

“You’re still in your 20s, what are you whining about?” A friend asked me.

“I whine about everything.” I told her. “I’m allowed to whine today because it’s my day.”

Granted.

I whined because there is nothing to whine about anymore.

Happy birthday to me.

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