Is this cake one I'm willing to eat for the rest of my life?

The speed limit, contrary to popular belief, is not the speed minimum!  This is revolutionary and life-changing information––I know.  That's why I've been patient with you up until now, but I've been cut off inappropriately for the last time.

Now, I don't normally mind it when people cut me off, because I understand running late.  I've cut people off before I was running late, and I intended no harm.  But when it's just the two of us on a road with only one lane going our direction, and your destination is your house at 5:30 p.m., I really don't appreciate it. You cut me off and turned into your driveway about two-hundred feet from where we were.  Considering the fact that I wasn't even going the fucking speed limit–I was going five over–you had no reason to be so assertive!  Yet, in your fit of childish road rage, and in your knowledge that I wasn't likely to react, you thought it completely necessary to cut me off, go forty miles per hour in a thirty miles-per-hour zone, and run a stop sign to get to your destination two seconds faster!

Don't think I'll forget what your car looks like either. 

I have become nineteen years old at last.

My parents, a friend of theirs, and I went out for sushi.  The entire meal was delectable.  At the end of it, my step-father mentioned that it was my birthday, and I was given some tempura-covered, flash-fried ice cream.


We're going out again tomorrow night to another sushi bar, minus their friend who came tonight, with the addition of D., my significant other, as well as K., my eldest step-sister.  It should be fun!

D.'s primal side comes out when he eats, especially with regard to sushi.  It's rather fascinating to watch.