The birthday started on Saturday, with dinner at Kate’s and the requisite night o’ drinking at the Local, explored in photographic detail in the snapshots section. A few people who I was looking forward to seeing never showed, but there was still a whole gang of good people there, and I was happily distracted and not terribly fretful over the year gone by.

Sunday was the official birthday, marked by Chad playing “Isn’t She Lovely?” and dancing around in his undies as I climbed down from the loftbed to greet day one of the 25th year. Perfect.

Later, dinner at Calcutta with my parents, my brothers, and Chad. We all walked back to the car after dinner so my mother could retreive the vegan chocolate cake that she’d baked for me. Out of the trunk, along with the cake, came a bunch of Powerpuff Girls happy birthday balloons. I clutched them, narrowly escaping their demise on awnings and street signs while pondering the ridiculousness of the whole affair as we walked the six blocks back to the apartment. My brothers handed me a card inscribed with the message, “Now all you have to look forward to is 40,” and three twenty dollar bills dropped out.

So, 25. I guess this is it. Now that all of the December and January festivities are officially over I can finally relax and get back to my normal life. But what is my normal life? I’ve been feeling for months that this isn’t it. Despite perfection in the relationship realm, and perhaps because of this whole quarter-century thing, I’ve felt a little unstable and out-of-place. What exactly am I doing here? Sometimes I feel like that Talking Heads song, except in a more negative way: This is not my miniscule apartment, this is not my bizzarro hippie job. Where is my financial stability, where is my sense of fitting in?

Maybe angst comes in waves after major life events. Maybe I should just go shopping.

Special thanks to everyone who commented or emailed birthday greetings. You all made the transition into mid-twenties a whole lot sweeter. I hope that I can return the favor someday.