The only difference I can detect between being 17 and being 18 is that
I no longer fall asleep watching The Nanny on Saturday nights. It was definitely a constant with me (until Nick decided to be a total brat and replace it with Friends. Who likes Friends?).

I would spend my Saturdays doing absolutely nothing and then settle down to watch Fran as she tried to get into Maxwell’s pants. Or whatever that show was about. Anyway, on Mondays when someone would decide to talk to me and ask me what I did over the weekend, I’d say something like, “Oh, I just kind of hung out.” When someone asked me what shows I was watching I’d say, “Oh, I don’t really have time for TV. Sometimes I watch The Nanny on Saturday nights. When I get home, that is.” These were never really lies, per se, just really transparent ways to try to cover up that I was/am a total boring nerdface.

Anyway, weekends are lame for me, and birthdays are just a reminder of that. Like this past Friday, my friend made me a surprise birthday dinner thing, and the whole time I just thought, Why did everyone show up? Shouldn’t you all be making out with your boyfriends, partying, or studying? ANYTHING cooler than spending your Friday night with ME? Also, This is really sweet, my friend got me glitter, and pasta is delicious.

My real birthday (Sunday) was kind of depressing in a shouldn’t-you-have-something-better-to-do-than-sit-around-by-your-computer kind of way. On birthdays you should have something cool planned to do. I failed to plan anything, so I had to settle for scoping out cuties at a burger place. OK, it was a family dinner. But half of my reason for choosing the place was that ALL THE WAITERS ARE GORGEOUS. Whatever. I’m 18 and mature and totally above it. Also, The Nanny just came on! WSFGHJFDFGHIJBH? I THOUGHT IT WAS GONE 4EVER. This is the best birthday present ever.

Portrait of the diarist as a mature adult.