I Could Have Been Named Oliver

Update: This is reposted from last year. My birthday is actually tomorrow, but who reads blogs on Saturdays?

It's my birthday. Yes, the legend that is The Flint Skinny was actually born like the rest of you regular folks. As you might guess, I intend to celebrate my birthday by consuming copious amount of alcohol...as is the American way. For me though, it's extra important to celebrate with booze. Way back when, my uncle decided that November 20th was a good day to get married. While that seems perfectly reasonable, a tiny unborn child disagreed. My uncle(godfather) is my dad's only brother, and my dad was set to be his best man. Knowing that I was a badass even before birth though, my dad wanted to be there for my triumphant escape from the womb. As the story would play out, that wedding was the greatest thing that could ever happen to me. I busted out of mom in 40 minutes, and my dad managed to make it to the wedding just in time for the reception. He then proceeded to get shitfaced in celebration of marriage and fatherhood. Once thoroughly intoxicated, he ran around the reception saying he just had a son named Ollie(short for Oliver). This immediately resulted in a call to my mother from an aunt to inform her that my dad was referring to me as Ollie, which quickly ended any possibility of me being named Oliver. Every year I toast to the Oliver that never made the cut. Here's to you Ollie!

Happy anniversary to my Uncle Paul, who knew your wedding would have such an impact?

Happy birthday to my Uncle Steve. If I have to share the day with someone, you're a damn fine partner in crime.