Wow. It’s weird to say “23”. It was weird to start saying “22”, too. I predicted that I would feel this way, too. I vividly remember a conversation with my girl friends in high school.
“You know what? Turning 21 is going to sorta suck, too.” My friends looked at me, their faces quizzical. “Why?!” “Because, I mean, we are so excited to turn 21 but we’re gonna have some, like, after-effects. Like, ‘Now what?'” My friends ultimately agreed with me. Deep down inside I wanted to enjoy every year of my twenties.
Now, I’ll be 23 on January 24. Can I just say that I’m way more excited for my birthday next year? Is that strange? Isn’t it easy to see why, though? It’s my golden birthday. Next year. Anyways… I love my birthday. I always start a Birthday Countdown on Christmas Eve. I don’t really know why I’m so infatuated with mah birthday, I just am. It’s not a characteristically Aquarius thing, either; I checked.
My real point is this: I feel there is a huge difference between being 23 and being 21, even if it is just two years’ difference. The main reason I say this is because I’ve noticed I’m perfectly content sitting at home, sipping wine and watching my favorite shows or doing other lassaiz-faire activities (blogging, reading, etc.) whereas most 21 year olds are rip-rearin’ to go, just dying to go out and party.
Yeah, yeah. I did it, too. And I know nearly everyone who reads this will be all like “You’re NOT OLD. Stop talking as though you are!” And to that I’ll reply,”Shut up. I’m expressing my thoughts!”
Oh, you’re still reading, even after the conversation I just had with myself via blog? Good!
But, really, do you know what I’m sayin’?
Even one of my friends from high school tweeted about staying home and doing nothing on a Saturday night and loving it. And I just think that calls for a “Hell yeah!” Because I’m the girl who’s perfectly content being a homebody. Don’t get me wrong, I can still throw a round of darts and shoot whisky. Don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout that.
I’m just saying that I feel more mature and calm. But maybe that’s because I’ve always known how to handle myself in a bar?
There are only 19 more days… In nineteen days (from tomorrow, a full day) I’ll be only two years away from 25, the whole mid-twenties plateau. I’m excited. I’m finallly catching up to the “how old I really feel” range. (I’ve felt like I was 25 or 26 since I was 18. Really.)
In 19 days I’m going to show those freshman-too-tanned-bitches how to do it right. Even if it is Sunday night!
Aw, Hell, I’ll probably end up eating Arby’s for supper and just drinking wine at home.