Sure, birthdays are stupid, but I like them anyway

I am 30 now. It’s like, official, and stuff. I got a letter from the Queen, man.

That’s not true. But you’re allowed to lie when you’re 30.

So, a couple of horrifically self indulgent posts coming your* way. Post birthday’s fault. Blame the birthday.

* I love referring to the internet like it’s actually a person reading this, and it’s obsessively watching my every move, nodding and saying “uh-huh, yep, yep” when I tell it my ridiculous tripe quota for the month has just doubled. And it maybe has a picture tacked up on its wall of me, and sometimes when its house mate isn’t around it kisses the picture. Yes, the internet is in love with me. What?