It was my birthday last week. My friend Aidan brought me a growler of Half Acre Space IPA. “Happy Birthday Asshole,” he said. It was the same thing he said to me in junior high at our Chicago Catholic school after bringing me a bag of unconsecrated hosts from the church sacristy. “Happy Birthday Asshole.” I had just opened the growler when my neighbor, Ms. Weregun, knocked on me door. She had a birthday present for me. It was a cat litter box. “But I don’t have a cat,” I said. “Well get one, asshole,” she said. My first birthday after college an attractive but somewhat worn-looking girl knocked on my apartment door. Underneath her long coat was a cheerleading uniform. She was some…