21 & 18

My God all I can think about anymore is how badly I want to be 21. I have all of these intricate fantasies I've created of me sitting in a dark bar and meeting this insanely mysterious, handsome, and intelligent man whom I hit it off with and we listen to great music and eat great food and go see great movies. Of course, the reality of bars is loud techno or rap and idiotic "dancing men." Men who like to dance. No, not those who occasionally bust a drunken move, but those who really put effort into their dance moves. Ok, there are also those dancing guys who simply like to dance because they get to simulate sex with scantily clad ladies. I'm talking about the guy who will dance alone. Yuck. I also want to turn 21 because as soon as I do I plan on becoming a wine snob. I just want to have some area of expertise that will make me feel cultured and yuppie. I want to go on a wine tasting tour and impress the lot with my ability to name a wine simply by a small sip. Then I can correct people and shit. "No Honey, that's not a merlot, it's a cab sauvignon. You silly peasant." Mwahahaha. I also have been thinking about what trashy rights you gain on your 18th birthday. This is the year you can officially buy porn, cigarettes, and lottery tickets. So you can officially gamble away your money, destroy your lungs, and beat it with more variety. I know it is the year of technical adult hood, but why does every right you gain have to be so skeezy? Oh yeah, and you get the right to vote, but who noticed an improvement in their quality of life with this right? Certainly not I. Give me the cigarettes over that right any day.