Engh. That's not a stellar #21. Mine was half and half -- half the worst birthday I ever had, half the best, and embarrassingly so, both ways. Eighteen was putrid and frustrating. I think 25 was my favorite since, and I didn't even realize it was my birthday until someone (robing) reminded me with, like, five hours left in the day. I think that might be the key there. Every time I'm conscious it's my birthday -- or worse, am reminded -- things tend to go haywire or just...disappointingly.