Good times, good times.

The Saturday after my birthday, the 18th, we went downtown for some good, old-fashioned partying. We hit West 6th, which is a little more age-appropriate and laid-back than the wild and crazy East 6th. Each have their place, depending on occasion, purpose, and mood, but West 6th just seemed more fitting for my 2-7.

Speaking of (a bit off-topic), I've decided the reason TWENTY-SEVEN sounds so much older to me than twenty-six, or even twenty-eight, is because it has more syllables than any other in the twenties. Think about it ... 1 (one), 2 (one), 3 (one), four (one), five (one), six (one), seven (TWO), eight (one), nine (one).

I may be grasping at straws here, but that's my reasoning. Either way, I'm of the opinion that people, in general, get better with age. My evidence for that assertion is based on numerous observations. Something about character and the rings of trees and things of that sort. Ponder it for a sec.

Anyway ... we went out. By "we", I mean me, Alex, Mel, her friends Lauren and Nathan, and my good, old friend Erik. You could definitely tell that we don't get out much anymore just by looking at the pictures. We had an absolute blast, but remained consistently goofy throughout the night.