23: The New 40

When did I get so OLD?

I may be the youngest of just about all of my friends, but it seems to me that 23 is pretty much the oldest age you could possibly be. Or at least, the oldest age you'd ever actually want to be.

Last weekend I tried to organize a small get together at my place with some of our friends. I had had a rough week, and just wanted to enjoy some good company and a few drinks down by our apartment complex's pool (aka, the Salty Mushroom, for those of you in the loop).

I should have known when my brother showed up that my plans would be foiled.

For those of you who don't know my brother, Justin is the biggest, most successful peer pressurer in the history of the world. Hyperbole, you say? No, that is no exaggeration. He once talked my un-daring, less-than-intermediate-skill-leveled ass into trying to conquer Diamond Jim at our family's ski resort time share in Massanutten, Virginia. I got off the ski lift at the top of the mountain, blacked out for a minute, and then promptly took off my skis and made him walk with me down the other side of the slope in our ski boots. It took an hour and 45 minutes to reach the bottom.

It's not like he has magical talents or anything. No silver tongue or unusual powers of persuasion. He's just relentless. He badgers and annoys you to a humiliating degree until you finally give in because you just don't want to hear it anymore. I know his methods. When I'm not under his influence I'm perfectly capable of understanding how he works and thinking to myself, "You know, self, next time you should just say no. It'll be easy. No, Justin, I don't want to jump off a 20-foot-high boulder into the lake where I don't know its depth. Easy." You would think I would know better by now.

Anyway, so Justin shows up, with his two roommates/stooges in tow. They've just made a stop by the liquor store. The two roommates have a bottle of champagne each, and Justin has Southern Comfort (you know, I have to hand it to the kid, he does his research and he knows my weak spots). I stay strong for awhile and stick to my cultured glass of wine. But soon after their arrival, the boys start in on Tyson and I about this party they're going to later and how we should come along. It'll be fun, they say. But, remembering my resolve to have a quiet, relaxing gathering at the pool, I repeat over and over that I'm just waiting on my friend Emily to get off work and then we are going to head down to the clubhouse and chill with some friends and do nothing.

"Boring," Justin tells me. "You're so dang old and boring. Why don't you ever DO anything anymore?"

Whatever, I think to myself. Wine by the pool is fun too.

A glass and a half of wine later, Justin finally wears me down with his repeated attempts to convince me that I really do want a shot of SoCo. "It's the Kramer Family drink. You know you love it. It's just one shot. What harm will it do? Are you really going to disgrace the family name by rejecting the one thing we all agree on? It's fitting that your last name is changing in a few weeks; you don't deserve to be a Kramer!"

Damn him, even typing this now I feel stupid for falling for his ruse again.

I don't know at what point I agreed to go to this party, but once I secured Emily's company I at least felt a little better about it. I was even kind of excited. Why not go live it up for awhile? I have years and years ahead of me to be a "boring adult," as Justin calls it.

I found out just before leaving that this so-called party was actually a 21st birthday party for a guy who I'm pretty sure was in middle school when I graduated high school, and whose friends had decided to throw him a black light rave. Note, I found this out BEFORE leaving....and I still went.

I'm not a big drinker. My 1.5 glasses of wine and single SoCo shot were more than enough for me. Still, I was not oblivious enough to not be horrified upon walking in to this apartment. When I say it was a black light rave, what I really mean is that it looked like I what I remember the local skating rink back in Mooresville, NC looking like when you walked in on a "slow skate" for couples. I thought that skating rink was awesome....in seventh grade.

Every light in this apartment was turned out. Black lights were everywhere. There were glowing signs written in highlighter all over the walls. "$1 for jello shots til 1AM!!" "Ben's 21st Birthday To-Do List: #1...Get Wasted!" "Beer Pong Sign-Ups HERE!!" White shirts and glow sticks galore. Glow-in-the-dark adhesive stars (the kind you put on your ceiling when you're 5) and a mysterious back room cordoned off by a black curtain.

I played flip cup for the first time in probably five or six years. I got yelled at when I couldn't chug the beer fast enough. I saw the freakin' BOUNCER, who was supposed to be sober and collecting money, puke outside the bathroom (couldn't quite make it to the toilet), jump up, and return to the party like nothing had happened. I saw two teenaged girls making out. One of them had a tongue ring. We left at 11:45.

I was mortified. Justin is right, I am old. Emily and Tyson and I had to be the oldest people there by at least the two years that separated us from the birthday boy, but my guess is the majority of the party was even younger than that. Who knew that the barrier between 21 and 23 was not just 2 years, but actually stretched a span of more like 2 decades?

I’m not sure how I feel about this growing up business. There’s really no denying I’m an old soul at heart. Even my freshman year of college wasn’t enough to make me wild and crazy for the expected first semester of rebellion. I’ve never been a big drinker or partier, and I’m kind of a homebody. So maybe it’s fitting that I’m reaching an age where it’s justifiable for me to spend my Friday nights watching DVDs with my soon-to-be hubby or going to herb gardens on Saturday mornings with my mom. But on the other hand, maybe I’m starting to realize how quickly youth really passes before the “real world” really takes over…

One thing is for sure, if staying young means I spend my time at parties with guys walking around in the dark in cut off t-shirts and “I ♥ BJ’s” written on their biceps, then I’m ok with being over-the-hill.