Things Wrong About Turning 23

I just turned 23 on Sunday. Yay for me! And for my heart, which is still beating! 23 years down, approximately 8 to go [I'm estimating].

So here’s where I carry issue right now…

*I’m another year removed from college, youthful indiscretions and innocence. Which pretty much means I’m running out of excuses for any of the ridiculous things I’m sure to be held responsible in the near and distant future.

*When I was little, and my cousin Mimi or Billy would tell me they were 23, I would just be aghast as to how incredibly old they were, and therefore how much money they must have. Because, come on, if you’re that old there has to be some sort of make do. And money is pretty much the only thing that could compensate for surviving to the decrepit age of 23.

FYI. I’m 23 and have no money.

*Another year gone, and my super powers have yet to reveal themselves to me.

*One year older to the last three milestones of life. Being able to rent a car, getting a senior citizen discount and dying. None of which are exciting enough to put down in my calendar.

*”Twenty-three is old. It’s almost 25, which is like almost mid-20’s.” Jessica Simpson.

*MTV has, more or less, lost it’s appeal. Meaning I’ve moved out of their target audience and may as well begin watching Larry King, complaining about how fast my cabs go and have people repeat things louder and more slowly.

Though I do appreciate those who wished me a happy birthday, both on Facebook and in real life. It honestly made me feel very loved. Kind of like the person in the box at a funeral [years away, people].

I also got this really funny card from Courtney.

Isn’t she sweet?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a bodega that is both a) still open, and 2) has Depends.