My brief hiatus can be chalked up to aggressively celebrating the birth of the great US of A, and, more importantly, the birth of yours truly. Unfortunately, both fell on awful days this year. Don't get me wrong, I will celebrate my country any day of the week, but a Wednesday - come the fuck on. And then to immediately follow that up with celebrating my favorite thing - me - on the worst day in the history of the world? I felt like I was stuck in the middle seat to Australia between a three-years-pregnant Jessica Simpson and, well, my mother. It was clear that 25 really wanted to finish me off raw and hard (something I might usually otherwise enjoy). There was nothing else to do except puke-and-rally my aging ass all the way to 26, and that, I did.