We celebrated Ioana's birthday by going to dinner at Cafe Istanbul, where patrons sat Indian-style on pillows and could order a hookah with their meal. Apparently Cafe Istanbul doesn't check IDs for tobacco products, so one hundred percent of the customers (other than our party) were high school kids. The guys looked like Adam Brody and the girls looked like they got their makeup from the toy aisle.

Usually I'd want a younger person to think that I was still cool and relevant. I'd want to be the guy who changed their view of an older generation simply by saying, "Hey guys, remember when skeeball prizes meant something?"

But these boners... they were idiots. They puffed the hookahs and then lounged on their backs like they were in some opium den. Profound conversations like, "I haven't studied since 9th grade," flowed from their supposed altered state.

Meanwhile I dropped, "Man, I love tucking in my shirt and paying for things with a credit card." I may not be able to grow a beard, but I do remember how to be socially immature.

Another hookah kid blurted, "Janet only won class treasurer because she's got tig ol' bitties."

Whereas I loudly stated, "Getting drunk and fucking pussy in a house that I own is totally sweet."

I used to think that I wanted a time machine with a fastpass to my high school years. Now I'm pretty sure I require a lobotomy to erase the whole damn thing.