This is the week for belated book reviews. A very funny man by the name of Phil Villarreal sent me a copy of his book, Secrets of a Stingy Scoundrel: 100 Dirty Little Money-Grubbing Secrets (affiliate link, get excited, I could make my first dollar from this blog) to review back in October.

I am now posting the review. Let’s just forget how many months are in between October and March. What is time anyway? I mean, what is now? What is future? What is existence?

Anyone seen the Matrix?

Check out my video review below, featuring the one of many Boy Toy Brads (backstory).  Leave a comment before midnight tonight and you’ll be eligible to win a free copy. Then, take a few minutes to check out Phil’s blog. He’s funny as hell and one of my favorite people I’ve met over the Internet.

From time to time, a pop culture phenomenon sweeps in,  funnels mankind’s collective interest and darts away with millions of YouTube views, a Today Show interview and a future spent hopping between the C-list reality television circuit and rehab facilities.

On an unrelated note, I announced a dance challenge over the weekend.

If you are currently storing urine in your bladder or coffee in your mouth, I advise you to relieve yourself of these liquid dangers prior to viewing my dance challenge announcement.

I highly recommend you participate in the “Show Me Ya Moves” Dance Challenge if you:

• plan to pursue a political career
• have children who will one day be teenagers
• are named Ellen Degeneres
• know someone (IRL) named Ellen Degeneres
• are still reading this. You’re wasting time. Get a camera. Play a tune. No talent required.

I might give away a free t-shirt to all participants. Or maybe all participants will automatically be eligible to win a date with Boy Toy Brad? I haven’t decided yet, but I’m open to suggestions.

Join the handful of people I have almost successfully harassed into participating:

Matt
Srini
Kelly
The Bloggess
Jamie
Rich
You.

Leave a comment below with your name and the song you plan to assault.

Twenty-five is the gateway age.

The early twenties are gone and the late twenties are just a cake or two away.

I now feel elderly at undergrad parties, and I’m okay with this displacement.

I did my time and I loved it.

Now though, I prefer a couple happy hour drinks, a movie and a good night’s sleep in preparation for a productive Saturday that usually starts with a cup of coffee and yoga class.

To my undergrad friends: I am sorry for any damage your keyboard suffered as a result of that last sentence.

In truth, I began mentally preparing for 25 on January 18, 2009.

I took 24 seriously. I knew it was the end of my early twenties. And both my bank account and my liver suffered the consequences of Las Olas many times as I adjusted to my relocation from Melbourne to Fort Lauderdale.

“The bars are open ’til 4? And you can drink on the street?!?!?! Oh my god!”

If I had a dollar for every time I shouted the lyrics to a Journey hit downtown while drinking a $4 beer, my mom wouldn’t have asked me, “Do you need money?” when I volunteered to pick up a milkshake from McDonald’s for her last night.

I had some fantastic times as a young, 24-year-old professional.

From the infamous dance-dance-fall-off-the-stage-and-somehow-land-perfectly-in-heels dance move to the fall-into-the-bush-that-had-been-nursed-back-to-life-for-3-weeks-and-instantaneously-lose-dinner evening, there are some great stories that I will go to great lengths to hide from my future children.*

And in that same vein of reflection, I recall the big plans I once had for this birthday.

First, Vegas. Then D.C.

But as January 17 drew closer, I changed my mind. On the tail of resolutions for 2010 to be a year of financial, professional and personal growth, it seemed a little counterintuitive to spend +$500 to transition from 24 to 25 in different scenery.

So I made the call. I would go out for a few drinks on Friday and then spend Saturday in Titusville with two of the craziest party animals this planet has ever seen – my parents. But even those plans changed. My dad had to have another stint put in, and while this procedure was deemed “commonplace” and not much to worry about, I replaced my Friday evening plans with an earlier departure.

Prior to my 2.5 hour drive home, I had a nice workthday.

I knew a cake was coming – primarily because EVERYONE gets a cake. So after a delicious sushi lunch on the house (complete with two special rolls rather than one special roll and one glob of rice with tuna – my usual order when it’s coming out of my account) I asked a coworker to just tell me when it was cake time instead of following the usual procedure of “everyone meet in the break room at 3 p.m. and then someone go tell Birthday Person that HR needs to talk to them and divert them into the break room.”

I’m not sure how my coworkers knew I would nearly faint at the sight of a Cookie Monster cookie cake.**

My Halloween costume was probably a solid hint.

Other cake preference indicators may have included:

• My tendency to giggle anytime someone says, “You need to clear your cookies,” and then give my best “COO-KIE!!” impersonation

• My defense that he is not actually a monster at all, but rather, a kind, loving, somewhat irrational, blue, fuzzy friend

• My admission that one Sunday afternoon (or Friday night) I watched every Cookie Monster YouTube available

I don’t know what gave it away. But I did learn that I am the most creative cake cutter ever born.***

And now, just 3:17 away from year 25, I listen to the commentary of an NFL playoff game, occasionally interrupted by my dad’s snoring.

Oh wait, we’re awake. A commercial break switchover to Nancy Grace caused the awakening.

Damn Nancy Grace, stirring shit up.

But really, I’m thankful for the nice, casual entrance into a year that I’m sure will be full of activity and growth. It’s fitting. My dad’s procedure went smoothly, as expected, but it did add perspective. It gave a more selfless feel to a birthday I once thought deserved an over-the-top celebration.

And hey, who says you can’t do Vegas on your 26th birthday?

A couple updates:

1. As expected, my birthday began with Captain Zoom calling all commands for a message to Jennifer – both from my parents and via voicemail from my brother. This guy probably thought he’d only have to sing to me from age 4-6, but that’s not how we roll in the McCoy household. Seriously, we probably owe the manufacturer money because that cassette cost $3.64 in 1989 and it’s been blared over our household intercom system every year since.

2. I received a Microsoft Paint birthday cake the size of NYC. Would anyone like to help me eat the digital leftovers?

* Children = cats

** As a coworker pointed out, this was irony at its finest. Cookie Monster on a cookie cake. He must choose whether he wants to live or to fulfill his desire and in turn, eat himself. I cannot get over this. Years later, I will reflect and giggle. Most likely, this reflection will take place during a very, very inappropriate time.

*** Make your reservation now. Available for birthdays, bar mitzvahs and any other Jewish celebrations.

Happy New Year. Now let’s not make this awkward. I just need you to purchase 65 t-shirts and we’ll call this even.

A few disclosures about “My Bad Romance with John Cusack”:

1. I spent the better part of my Friday night attempting to make my own real life Lady Gaga music video. It was horrible and sweaty. Seriously, idk how she does it.
2. I now feel bad for any man who has danced with me. Ever.
3. If anyone wants some Egyptian wigs, I might have a few slightly used for resale soon.
4. Also, triangular bras. Give me a shout.
5. My hopes for this YouTube are that I will get to go on the Ellen show and dance with Lady Gaga and John Cusack. Nothing more. Nothing less.