Yesterday I celebrated my birthday by going to the scariest place on earth. No, not Michael Jackson's bedroom. The DMZ.

Except you know, it really wasn't so scary the second time. It wasn't snowing and hushed and quiet like when I went with Wendy in January. The sun was shining and green buds were starting to show on gray branches, and the air of expectation seemed to be directed more at the arrival of spring more than a possible shower of bullets. That damn spring, making everyone feel falsely optimistic and shit. Well, just wait til fall, my friends! Laugh gaily and make merry now, 'cause death is just around the corner!

Hm.

So I actually had a very nice day, starting with the DMZ and continuing on to shrimp fajitas and margaritas at the Mexican restaurant in the American army base. It's useful to know the odd American soldier and his wife, especially if the wife makes a mean apple pie and if the soldier buys your dinner for you.

And now I'm 28. Woo woo!

I've always thought that 28 was the ideal age to be. It seems about the time when you start understanding how life really works -- and more importantly, accepting it and making it work for you. Still young enough to go out and get trashed now and then without making excuses, but smart enough to quit most nights at a point where you can get up the next morning without a desire to kill yourself. Confident enough to say you don't know and comfortable enough to not mind the laughter. (Hey, maybe you'll even join in! As long as someone tells you the answer, in the end.) Honest enough to admit when something isn't right in a relationship or a chosen career, and brave enough to -- wait. Didn't I read this kind of potpourri-scented slag in an email forward or something? Shut it, Helen. (My gift to you today.)

I have invited BC to write a guest entry here... let's all hope she agrees to do so.