So tomorrow, Monday, I turn 21. That only happens once, right?
This evening we had planned on going to Foxwoods. The moment I turn 21, I’m playing blackjack and sipping a martini. “Turn 21, Play 21″; that should be a marketing slogan. For idiots. And college students. But I repeat myself.
Somehow, because it’s Sunday, it seems people feel content to bail on me at the last minute. “My car’s wheels fell off.” Boo-hoo. Like you can’t just hoof it. I’ve looked at a map before; DC and CT are practically right next to each other. I mean, I know they’re different colors, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?
Or how about the “I’ve got too much work” excuse. What proper college senior turns down a free trip to Foxwoods because he wants to do work? As if I don’t have programming homework due Tuesday, an Algorithms problem set due Wednesday that will take hours to finish, and a paper on the “Stalin Revolution” due Thursday. So cry me a river.
I can’t really blame Natasha and Pina for not celebrating at the stroke of midnight; for them, I’ll be turning 21 at the stroke of 8AM. Besides, from what I’ve been hearing, their trip to St. Petersburg has been eventful enough. I don’t expect them to be taking shots right before French class, just for me.
So tonight, when all you studious types are tucked in (or, depending on time zone, getting out of bed), visions of broken wheels and regression curves dancing through your heads, I’m going to be gambling away my life savings with a drink in each hand. Sweet dreams.