"I'm Sixteen Years Old! I'm Not A Child!"

The title was taken from a movie that I don't particularly like but don't particularly hate, either. See if you can guess it!
The title is true, but I've never had to say it to anyone in particular. I'M SIXTEEN!
I don't feel sixteen, though. I think it's because of my sixteenth birthday party.
My nonexistent sixteenth birthday party.
That's right. I didn't celebrate my sixteenth birthday! That was to show that I am mature enough to be able to turn a year older without needing childish celebrations. Cake? Pizza? Parties? Pah! who needs them?! Childishness, I tell you.

What the--? That...was not me! At all! WHY ARE YOU DOUBTING ME?...Okay, fine, it was.

First of all, my birthday was during Ramadan, and my family doesn't celebrate birthdays that fall in that holy month. Secondly, it hadn't even been forty days since my grandmother passed away, so no one was really in the mood to celebrate my becoming one year closer to death. Sure, we're not supposed to cry until forty days after a loved one's death, but celebrating something...seems wrong, don't you think?

So, what I did on my birthday was SAT prepping, fasting, and having a normal day in general (except for the fasting part). But my parents wanted to do something to recognize that it was my birthday. Even for the two years that my sister's birthday fell in the month of Ramadan, she still got a cake. So I got a pie! Two pies, actually. My sister didn't like that. She doesn't like pies.

But I only ate half a pie slice. It turns out that having six cookies and 30-ish chips isn't such a great way to break your fast if you wish to preserve your appetite. Plus, it's definitely not mature. *looks haughtily* I, uh, didn't have experience being a sixteen-year-old, that's all. Yeah, that's it. No experience. *cough* So, anyway, my mom asked me if I wanted one roti or two. I normally eat two, so I, being foolish, asked for two. By the end of that dinner, I was very full. And then I tried to down a piece of the pecan pie. But by the time I got halfway, I wanted to barf. 

Not fun at all. And throughout my eating of the pie slice, I prayed to God to please keep my dinner down. Ugh...

Well, looking at green-faced people makes me sick (sorry, aliens who are green) so here's a picture of dinobots crushing the TREADMILL OF DOOM from my "I Love Not Being in P.E.!" post.

"Hey, look, Treadmill of Doom, here are Barney and Baby Bop coming to meet you! Why are you so scared? They love you! They want to hug you! What's that? They look different? They got a makeover, silly! Now don't act all scared of them...you'we huwting theiw feewings! Uh-oh, you've made them mad!" CRUNCH! 

Poor Treadmill of Doom! It looks so scared. I almost feel sorry for it.

I shouldn't have discussed pie. I'm hungry now.