The Voices In My Head: The Big Two-One

At around 5 PM Orlando time today, I will officially hit the big two-one.

So what does turning 21 years old - I mean, 21 years young - entail?

Entering clubs and bars can now be done legally. Not that I have never entered a club or bar before, but this doesn't really excite me since I don't really possess a particular fondness for clubs and bars (public vomitting and cheesy pick-up lines don't really appeal to me).

Consuming alcoholic beverages can now be done without fear of federal prosecution. Again, my fondness for alcoholic beverages is virtually non-existent and so I couldn't care less, but oh well.

Can I still buy music by poppy, catered-to-teens, manufactured artists (if you can even call them that) like Britney, Blue, Westlife and Atomic Kitten?

I don't think I should stop and casually flip through Teen People magazines at the bookstore anymore, even if I take great pains to make sure that I'm incredibly inconspicuous about it.

I will no longer be held back by "No one beyond 21 permitted beyond this point" signs.

I have now reached the last milestone of adolescence and youth. Before you know it, 30 will be here, and then 40, 50 and 60. After that comes 70, then 80 and 90, after which it won't really matter anymore because I probably will have already lost count and will be the crazy granny at family reunions who goes around saying things like, "I look like I did when I was 73! I haven't aged a bit! Ho, ho!". (I'll probably also be a couple thousand neurons short, thanks to my stupid air conditioner filter and whatever suspicious substance it is that I've been inhaling from its leaky vents. The air-con guys are coming to fix it tomorrow, by the way).

As a teen, everyone looks forward to one day turning 21. Once you finally hit 21, what do you look forward to now? Turning 51? (No offense to anyone out there who might actually be 51.

)

I'm a legal adult now. Why does that sound so incredibly old and ancient to my ears?

The ominous "forbidden" element of adulthood will no longer be there. As it turns out, adulthood doesn't hold much mystique after all.

Even thinking for the slightest second that guys like Zac Hanson possess the smallest modicum of hotness now makes me sound like a pedophile.

I guess this means I can't have conversations with the Powerpuff Girls anymore, huh. Oh well, I shall now be forced to live vicariously in the world of cartoons by means of my 7-year old cousin, Nina.