As many of you may already know (as I am a famous celebrity) this past Friday was my birthday. Since everybody knows that I am the center of the universe, instead of using this space to complain about how everyone is beneath me, I will recount the events of the anniversary of my birth.

My celebration started a few days early, when I received a terribly impersonal "Happy Birthday" memo from Provost and Vice Chancellor Keith Miller. I initially thought it was another bill from the university charging me for air I breathe on school grounds.

I was pleasantly surprised that the provost and vice chancellor of our University remembered my birthday, even though we have never met and I probably wouldn’t recognize him if we ever did happen to meet.

There is a downside in getting a card from him. Now I have to send him a card for his birthday.

The card, which looks like it was made by a 6-year-old with Microsoft Paint, will from this day forward be taped to the ceiling directly above my bed. That way I can remember to complain to Miller, if I ever see him, about sending me a birthday card with no birthday money.

But that card was only the second or third best thing that happened to me on my birthday.

I was awakened on my birthday by a phone call at 7 a.m. I was joyfully roused from my sleep, knowing that somebody had remembered my birthday and called to wish me happiness on my very special day.

I was even more surprised when I found that the person on the other line was a complete stranger. It was Kelly, who had a very special offer for me from Visa.

She told me that, as a college student I was lucky enough to be eligible for, of all things, a credit card.

I immediately signed up, and began to look foward to my special-for-some-reason credit card, and the free gift that will come with it.

Kelly told me that my free gift will either be an AM radio, which probably doesn’t have a clock on it, or a size small t-shirt with the Visa logo across the front.

I celebrated my birthday later that night by meeting up with two new friends of mine. I don’t know their names, but they are two filthy winos who live in a dumpster behind a bus depot. One of them had "Bum Fights" tattooed on his forehead, and the other smelled like rat urine and decaying Hamburger Helper.

These two friends of mine seemed excited when I showed them the $20 bill my grandparents had sent for my birthday. They initially wanted me to use the money to buy them liquor, which I outright refused to do as I just turned 20 and would be breaking the law by drinking. After all, that’s a law that nobody ever breaks, and I wouldn’t want to be different. They were disappointed, but said I could celebrate my birthday at something called a "strip club."

I was excited because at this point I was experiencing new things. We took a walk into a neighborhood that one bum called "Little Beirut." We were stopped by the police, and they angrily questioned the bums. My impoverished friends began to yell at the police, who responded by bashing their heads with their night sticks. And I was sprayed in the face with pepper spray for apparently no reason. Ouch, did it sting!

We finally arrived at a dilapidated warehouse down by the docks. There was a bright-yellow neon sign that read "The Hooter Hut," and horrible techno music blaring within the building. The inside was filled with creepy middle-aged men and drunken college students. There were tables where women were dancing wearing only underwear and what appeared to be duct tape.

One of my new bum friends told me to stick the $20 bill my grandparents (who love me very much) sent me, into the underwear of one of the dancing women. I did so, and then she began to walk away with my money still in her pants.

I realized at this point that I was being robbed, which I have heard happens in the big city. I leaped on the stage and charged after her. I stuck my hand into her pants to get my birthday money back, but she screamed and I was mysteriously attacked by a gang of lummoxes, all wearing t-shirts that read "security."

As I was being beaten with flashlights, the police came. At first I was relieved, for I assumed that the police were there to rescue me and return my money to me. After all, the police were always looking out for me, with the exception of the time I was sprayed with pepper spray for absolutely no reason earlier that night.

But they arrested me, said I was a "glue zombie," took my clothing and sprayed me with a fire hose. I spent the rest of my birthday in the corner of a jail cell, soaking wet, shivering cold and completely naked, save for a single sock. All-in-all, I would have to say that my birthday was fun and full of fond memories.