At precisely 3:30 pm EDT (it is EDT now, yes? no? I never remember) today*, I turned 19.

I have one year left of being a teenager.

This birthday marked the first year when I didn't actually look forward to getting older. There is nothing really special about 19 -- it isn't any real rite of passage, it's just another year older. The way I see it, the only birthday worth really looking forward to now is 21 and honestly, I don't really care that much.

For once, I want to be younger. I mean, like a lot younger. Like a little kid, and maybe I say that because I don't want to be writing papers or (thinking about, anyway) studying for finals. And I don't want to have weird issues and regrets and mistakes and all those other things that you get after like 19 years.

But all the same -- it wasn't a bad birthday. Aside from the fact that I was ridiculously overtired from the weekend's festivities, it was a pretty good birthday.

It was another sunny and beautiful day (perhaps a little too sunny and more importantly, too hot) which was, in a way, sort of uplifting and inspirational. We went out to dinner and even though the waitress brought me the wrong order (I said spinach enchiladas, she brought me chicken) it was good. (And one day, maybe I will brave and realize you don't have to put up with things like that, and well, things, but I digress.)

And I had fun and it wasn't bad -- no grand birthday celebration, but then, I have never been big on that. I wish Liz could have stayed today to celebrate together (this is, I think, the only birthday we haven't been together, although I didn't realize that until just now) but such things could not be helped, and she was here yesterday and I'll be home in three weeks so it's not that big of a thing anyway, I guess.

Last year, my birthday fell on Easter and it was, for a good number of reasons, really not a very good birthday. We went to Church, we went to brunch, we came home and opened presents and pretended there wasn't an odd and eerie tension there, but of course, there was. That night, Liz and I saw High Fidelity with Erin, then drove around, went to Dunkin' Donuts and stopped by her friend's house (whose name completely alludes me now) and ate some of their candy and sat around for a few hours before we came home and had a rather unfortunate and very long argument with my mother. Some classic lines were said -- that I don't think I'll ever forget and I'm sure she regrets, but alas, that was last year and I am no longer 18.

The year before we were in Italy, and in retrospect, it was probably my most favorite birthday in recent memory. Kathleen's birthday had been the day before so that at midnight, in a rather cheesy club in Florence, we officially celebrated. And I got to call Dan, which at the time, made me very, very happy (since that whole week, I'd been leaving random "Hi, Dan, it's me, we're in [insert city name here] It's beautiful, it's incredible, I miss you so, so much, I love you, bye!" messages from payphones across Italy). And the next day, we wandered around Florence and random boys from Bari hit on us and I still remember some of their names and have the big group shot we took together. And they were actually nice (or at least, did a good job of seeming so) which is more than I can say for a lot of the sleazy boys you meet in Italy.

My mom said how it was odd that I wouldn't be home for my birthday, but when I really think about it, I think I've been away for just as many birthday's as I've been home. At least, if home is what you consider that physical building that my family lives in.

I'm just usually with my family.

But the year I turned four, we were in D.C. We went to a Vietnamese restaraunt, which I still remember pretty vividly for a four year old. When I turned nine, it was Baltimore. Eleven was Disney World (the Hoop-Dee-Doo Revue, and they sang to us), when I was 12, it was Baltimore again (we drove down for my little cousin's baptism, my little brother got sick and puked the whole car ride down, it was, most assuredly, the trip from hell). For 13, it was Marco Island, Florida; 14 was in the Virgin Islands (when, once again, people got the stomach flu).

It usually involves dinner in a restaraunt, strangers singing and blowing out a single candle on a cake of some sort. And the years we were home and were young enough to care, we'd light the candles twice, and I always got to blow them out first since I am (random trivia for you) ten minutes older than my sister.

At least this year, there were no singing strangers. My friends, thankfully, saved me that joy, I think partly because the restaraunt was very not crowded and they would've pretty much been the only ones singing, and nobody really wanted that. And our waitress was a bitch, anyway.

So anyway -- 19. One more year left of being a teenager, and only two more years 'til I can legally drink in this country. I am sure you are all waiting with baited breath.

Actually, it was yesterday if you're going by the top of the page since apparently, I did not finish this entry until aftermidnight. My birthday is, indeed, April 23. (return)

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Replies: 1

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Posted by d52290d @ 03/10/2005 10:56 PM EST