That is how old I am now and it’s a scary thought. According to my grandma I am the only person on Earth below the age of twenty that dreads getting older. My dad also strongly agrees with her.

Part of me still wants to scream WHAT DO YOU KNOW! but when I did at my birthday party last Friday most of my relatives and close family didn’t look so amused. They don’t understand, anyway. In fact, I don’t think anybody does. It’s sad and lonely, here in the land of mindblowing age-paranoia.

So we had home-made pizza and they gave me some money; birthday parties with the family are a strange business, aren’t they? Why don’t you go buy yourself something pretty? (apparently speaking to the ten-year-old in me) and Save this for university next year! (talking to the grown-up, normally developping, reasonable, intelligent young woman somewhere hidden in me). What a night.

On Saturday, my closest friends and I went out to my favorite cocktail bar and had a great time. I hadn’t been to the bar for quite a while so I didn’t know they always had a guest DJ on Saturday nights now. He was awesome and looked deliciously gorgeous – as does everybody these days, it seems. What is up with all the girls and their super-slim ankles wrapped carefully into real leather ankle boots and all the natural and classy make-up, the tight and dark jeans, the honey-colored, shiny hair? Show-offs.

So anyway, the music was extremely well in tone with the bar and the cocktails and the laughter and talking and the expensive designer food and the low lights. I tend to not like DJs because they usually mess up the atmosphere at places that don’t usually have DJs but, man, this one seriously knew what he was doing. He also used an Apple laptop which made him that much hotter.

Seeing the blue light of the Apple sign glow through the bar, disappearing and reappearing between heads and waiters and waitresses carrying around the most spectacular creations, almost had a nostalgic feel to it. A reassuring glow, it was.

I do hate getting older, though, and the sheer knowing of the fact that soon I will cross that fine line between ages; the age when you’re officially an adult but everybody accepts your childish behavior just as well and the age when you’re officially an adult and damn better behave that way, too. I hate that line and I hate coming closer to crossing it.