Saturday, January 21, 2012

Turning 19 Years Old

So, it is official,  I'm 19 years old! Whoop!
I don't necessarily feel the difference from being 18 or 17. I rather enjoyed being the perfect 18.
 It's an even number,  the first age you get a spoonful of responsibility and the title of jailbait is expunged. 19 is quite pointless, it's like I'm stuck in the in between. You don't get any cool upgrades like the 18 year old, and it's a undesirable odd number. Goodness gracious! Round up or down!

I went out to dinner twice: on my B Day at Juniors with my friends and Diego. The following day, I went out to dinner at my favorite Japanese restaurant Naturi with my sisters and grandmother . It was pleasant, but at the end of the day, it wasn't a memorable celebration like last years wild shin digg. My birthday lacked MAGIC.

One of my most sour memories is my 11th birthday party.
I wore my sparkly Wizard of Oz Mary Jane shoes with a  matching disco dress and stared out of the window for arriving guests as a blizzard roared,  hopeful with a smile on my face. Winter birthdays are a  bitch! No one came, and I cried myself to sleep fully clothed with a fractured heart. Reminiscing about it now, I feel the burn of disappointment. WHATEVER.

Birthdays mean nothing in actuality. Nothing changes.
Events are what essentially age us. Every time something momentous occurs in out lives: ZING! We should increase our ages; similar to leveling up in a video game!
Think about it though. When I went to Europe on my own at 17 years, I swear when I returned I felt 21 years old. And every time you do something dumb, you should get younger. I know 30 year olds who are 12 according to what they've accomplished in life.  How old do you think you really are? Ponder on that.