21… So far.

So, as you all may or may not know, I turned twenty-one in the beginning of March. A lot of you requested a post on what being twenty-one is like for me and how I am enjoying it. Well, ask and you shall receive:

Contrary to what this picture suggests, over the course of the last month or so, I’ve realized something: I genuinely don’t like alcohol. That isn’t to say that all alcohol is off limits for me, per sé. I can usually sip on a mimosa or take a few sips of tequila without cringing, but in general, my first month as part of the “Twenty-Fun” club has consisted of going to Happy Hour with my cousin specifically for the food. Yes, people. The $1 street tacos and pizza slices I enjoy at The Junkyard win the battle against alcohol. I’m serious, people. If you order me an alcoholic beverage, it will nine times out of ten, remain untouched and become watered down. 
For a while, I thought there was something wrong with me. While my friends were super pumped and dreaming of keggers and planning 21st birthday parties they knew they wouldn’t remember, all I wanted was a steak dinner, mashed potatoes and all. I was confused, though, because in the weeks leading up to my birthday, I felt nothing. Every one of my friends anticipated the drunken Instagram selfies and Snapchats, but on my birthday, the opposite happened. For some reason, I thought that turning 21 magically made you have an affinity for alcohol, but instead, on the day of my birthday, I got Starbucks… which is pretty much what I do every day of the week. My friend Allie even told me, “there better be some vodka in that passion tea”, which prompted me to abruptly crush her dreams of seeing me intoxicated.
The truth is, I’m just not an alcohol person, and hey, maybe one day that’ll change, but for right now, when someone asks me why I came to Happy Hour, I’ll always say, without any hesitation: “For the food! DUH!” And I’ve realized that that’s perfectly okay. 

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