I am writing this article in honor of the centennial of my birth and, for the record, I am not one of the first to think of it.
In fact, the idea that I am the one who invented centennial is a joke that has been around for more than a century.
As the word centennial implies, the term is a bit of a misnomer, but it’s a term that, for me at least, has come to encapsulate what it means to be a centennial.
It was not only the birth anniversary of my father, but also my first year of college, my first trip to New York, and my first vacation in the city, which, for a lot of people, would mark the beginning of a long, storied and fruitful career.
For the longest time, centennial dates were only a few weeks old.
I grew up in a household with a great sense of tradition.
For instance, my father would drive his pickup truck to the local library every morning and bring a new edition of the Times and Post and a copy of the Wall Street Journal back with him.
We lived in a very traditional, small, suburban house in an old house on the outskirts of Atlanta.
Our parents always wanted us to do things our own way, but I was the first one to tell them that it would be nice if I went out and built my own home.
It didn’t take long for them to realize that my plans were way out of their way, and I was given a small house on my own.
It’s been quite a ride.
In the end, my dad and I decided to go back to the old house we’d grown up in and build a nice, two-story, single-family house.
It looked like a simple, typical Georgian home: white tile, white walls, white wood, and white doors.
I would love to say I’m proud of that decision.
I am, but in retrospect, I think it was a mistake.
It wasn’t until I got married that I realized I really wanted to do something else with my life.
I wanted to build my own house, and build it well.
At the time, the best thing I could do with my own money was rent a small apartment in a nice neighborhood.
In the neighborhood where I lived, the apartments were all on the same street, and the street was very quiet.
But I was not very careful with my finances.
I rented an apartment in one of those quiet neighborhoods, and soon, the apartment I lived in became my life’s home.
I had to do some housework to keep the apartment running.
I did this for years.
I would sit in front of the television and watch all the NFL games on ESPN, which was on at home and in my living room.
I played video games.
I even tried to watch movies with my parents, but they were so busy that they couldn’t watch the movies at all.
The first time my parents were home from college, they watched a movie with me.
I cried because I couldn’t believe that I was going to be so much of a parent when they returned.
I was really happy and proud of myself for having such a great life, but the fact that I could not be a good parent was frustrating.
I got out of that apartment and I moved out with my mother.
I felt like my parents wanted to be together with me, but my mother just wasn’t into me.
She was too busy with my boyfriend.
One day, I got a call from my father and told him that my parents weren’t going to have a nice place to live.
I asked him to go out and buy a place and get rid of the old place.
I could have said the same thing about my apartment, but instead I decided it was time to change the subject.
I decided that I would spend the next few years moving around the city and living out of my mother’s house.
I started living out in the backyards of friends’ houses and trying to do what I wanted with my time.
One of my first big decisions was to move out of the house I was living in.
The reason I did that was because I felt it was the right thing to do.
I knew that I wanted my life to be more normal.
It also seemed like a good idea at the time.
I didn’t really have much to do outside of school, and, as my parents always told me, the only thing I really liked to do was go out to bars.
I also was a huge beer drinker, so I was pretty good at that.
I loved to be around other people.
My friends were nice to me, and they even let me go out with them for the first time.
After a couple of months, my mother finally got tired of me living out and I started to look