Being a mere year from starting the decade that will be known as "my 20's," I can no longer tell people the Loch Ness Monster is real and expect them to believe me (it's real. google that shit. don't make fun of me. Nessie is real and I KNOW it. you don't believe me, do you? god damn you. you're lucky I'm 19 now and don't give a SHIT what you think. but seriously. google it. google it now. no, don't google it now. read my blog now. google it later.); no longer can I run around my house naked. (this became a no-no years ago, I'm not referring to this activity as something I have done recently, in my teenage years, I'm talking about my baby years. sure they were a couple decades ago but they count too and oh how I do miss them).
But now that holding hands is no longer considered "second base" and jamming out to the Spice Girls has become something I must do in secret, what CAN I do at 19? What does the age of 19 bring exactly?
And 20? What about 20?
21? 21, perhaps?
LOTS OF SHIT.
But I'm not 21. I'm not even 2o. I'm not even 19 AND A HALF. I'm just 19. Though it's quite common to celebrate the fact that you've become a whole year closer to dying, it's not nearly as fun when you're at an age like nineteen. Nineteen is boring. Nineteen is lame. There's nothing new I can do; I can just keep reminding myself that I'm now that much closer to being DEAD. Awesome.
But then again, maybe being in my 20’s isn’t going to be as great as I imagine it to be; maybe it’s the whole “the grass is greener on the the side” ordeal. Will bars really be that great? Not according to the last person I had this discussion with.
“Man I went to the bar last night and, like, at this bar I go to, if you buy a shot the bartender will pour it out of her mouth into yours, and it’s really hot. So last night one of the bartenders came up to me and asked me to buy a shot, and I said, ‘Only if you pour it into my mouth,’ and she said, ‘How about I let you suck my nipples instead?’ and man it was so awesome I drank that shot and then started sucking on that bitch’s tit, and then my buddy Joe joined in and sucked on the other one, and we were both just suckin’ on that bitch’s tits and it was so fucking awesome!”
Yeah. Don’t know if I care that much about going to bars anymore. I mean I have always wanted to see a girl my age breastfeed two grown men while in public, but I would also become incredibly envious of the self-respect that girl has and wish that I, too, could be confident enough in myself to allow two drunk strangers to put their lips around my nipples.
BUT, I will enjoy getting older and not being GROUNDED; not getting my car taken away and having to have my younger sister CHAUFFEUR me around everywhere which in some situations just doesn’t quite work out that well; and it’s annoying enough because I never feel comfortable in the passenger seat...it’s too open and wide and I don’t know what the hell to do with my hands.
Nineteen really doesn’t bring anything to the table. Not one thing. I even googled the benefits of being 19, and you know what I found? I found the benefits of being 17, the benefits of being 18, and the benefits of being 21. They completely skipped over the age of 19 and google completely IGNORED my request. Besides, those sites didn’t help much, either. One thing I read said that the great thing about turning 18 is that you can buy alcohol and sell it to minors. Um yeah, buddy. Good luck with THAT one.
So basically I must wait 2 more years until I have total freedom. (Unless I want to rent a car. Then I‘ll have to wait until I’m 25. The purpose of that law is still unknown to me. I can get shitfaced drunk but not drive a rented car? Wait...that law is starting to make more sense now...God dammit I wish I lived in Europe.) And since I have just now realized that being 19 doesn’t mean SHIT, I think I’ll continue on my way of running over my little plastic children with my little plastic Buick, and laugh hysterically at obese people in physical pain, and still pretend like there is some deep, hidden meaning in the line, ‘All I really want is a zigga-zag-ah.’ Well now, this blog post has come to its conclusion, and I think we both know what that means. (Go google the Loch Ness Monster. NOW.)