D’Arvit!

“Can I see your ID, please?” she asked. She was a pleasant looking woman, perhaps in her early forties, blond, tanned, yet very very white. She smiled a bespectacled smile, the type of smile that you get from people who wear glasses.

For what?, I thought. I didn’t know they did a Victoria’s Secret on here, asking for IDs when paying via credit card. But wait, I’m not even paying yet, how could she–?

I gave her my What The Hell Are You Talking About look.

“For the beer,” replied the Wise Bespectacled One, as if reading my thoughts. She got Dad’s case of beer from the bottom of the shopping cart and slumped it down on her little counter.

“Ohhh!” I lamely said. “Well,” I began as I waved towards my mother nearby. “She’s paying for these.”

I forced my credit card back in my wallet. I gave her my Stupid Smile.

She nodded and began the check-out process.

I could have told her that I’m turning 21 tomorrow, that I could buy all the beer that I want, and perhaps, even more. Of course, I knew better than to complicate things, and so I kept quiet. The fact that my driver’s license still has that ugly yellow “BELOW 21″ band doesn’t help, either [I renewed my license yesterday, and I wasn't 21 at that time anyway].

21.

Ha. Turning 21.

It still didn’t sink in yet, I think. Or maybe it probably did–I’m really not too sure. 21 is really a bigger deal than 18, I think, because of two reasons:

1. Being twentynothingsomething.
2. Getting kicked out of dependent status for my Dad’s visa. [More on this next time... this is supposed to be another blog entry & explanation.]

I was looking around the girls in my classes, and one thing I also noticed was that absolutely ALL of them have the unmistakable wedding band on their left ring fingers! They’re all married! Yes, a couple of them are older, but a lot of them are still pretty much my age [20 or 21].

Then it just sinks in. It’s like I should act like a fucking grown-up because everyone around me is. The truth is, I’m just a 14 year-old girl at heart: embracing singleness, playing games, leeching off my parents’ money, being a jobless bum and all that…

Ugh, I’ll be 21 tomorrow. I’m scared shitless. Not that it matters, since I’m pretty much 21 right now anyway. Why do numbers have to dictate how we act, how we should do things–basically our lives?

Fuck growing up.

I hope I have a happy birthday tomorrow because tomorrow is the start of the Rest of My Life.

PS: Happy 20th birthday to my friends Lora and Jade, as well! Also, happy 25th birthday to my cousin Tim.