BLOG: Birthday opens doors, bar doors

This week  I discovered a whole new side of Vermillion, the part that is mostly confined to Main Street, but contains 70 percent of the party: I discovered the bars.

I turned 21 this weekend. I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve having my birthday fall the weekend before the finals, of the roughest semester of my college career. I must have been a serial killer, bank robber, child hater, card counter in a past life or something, and that has given me incredibly bad karma.

Anyway, now that it’s the middle of finals week, I’m in a position that I can compare to getting my first decent car with working windows, heater, air conditioning and a fully functioning shifter. I bought this fancy car one summer and the very next day I went out of state for a week and a half and didn’t get to enjoy my new car.

That’s what it’s been like all this week; I have the ability to legally buy and consume alcohol, but I really shouldn’t. It’s the ultimate test of willpower. It’s like the world is testing me. I’m like the karate kid of the party scene.

Regardless, now there is nothing in Vermillion that is off limits, except places that are locked or too high for me to reach, but in the case of eating and drinking establishments, now there is nowhere I can’t go. I fully intend on rubbing that in my underage friends’ faces. Maybe this is the type of thing that gives you (or your future self) bad karma, but it’s bad karma that can turn you into the karate kid.

So, children, the moral of the story is, as Kelly Clarkson so wisely said, “What doesn’t kill you make you stronger.” Or by my logic, according to this blog, not being able to drink turns you into the karate kid. Hopefully I’ll turn into Hilary Swank, the prettiest karate kid.