Happy, Happy Birthday!

That is so weird. I posted a birthday post for you at around 6:00 AM on October 16th after my 8 mile run, and it seems that it’s just now showing up. Ok, that’s a lie. And it’s not even a lie I have to make, because the fact that I’m wishing you a Happy Birthday nearly two months late says a lot about why we became friends in the first place. If I weren’t the type of person who wished someone a Happy Birthday two months late, then I wouldn’t have been the type of person who was willing to spend a good portion of college lying around and talking for hours and hours and hours and hours about things large and small.

I’ve crunched the numbers, and I can directly attribute 0.7 in lost GPA points to you. But if I hadn’t have traded those lost GPA points to be your friend, we wouldn’t have spent time together doing ACCESS with that incredibly weird family who asked us to babysit their children for 4 days while they went to Wendover. We never would have been exposed to that mystery meal in the Mason Jar, the thought of which is actually making me physically gag right now. You never would have gone on a date with Jon Wood or received his plastic rose. You never would have found me on your couch watching Batman and doing awesome. We wouldn’t have talked our way into feeling better through countless crushes and break-ups. We wouldn’t have weathered those later, post-BYU single years where we wondered if either of us was ever going to get married, and I wouldn’t have seen you at your wedding, beaming and happy, and you wouldn’t have been at mine, with a little bun in the oven.

In short, if I wasn’t the kind of person to come in just shy of two months late on a birthday blog, then we never would have been friends in the first place, and I wouldn’t have been invited to write this, and Germany probably would have won World War 2. I think we can both agree that no one wants to see that happen. Anyway, Happy 30th Birthday. I love you and I’m so happy that you’re so happy.