Twenty-One. It's like I'm finally a legal immigrant.

Birthdays. Illegal immigration. Okay, go with me on this. I'm about to blow your mind with this anology.

So twenty. We've all been there (or most of us have - sorry to any of you youngins out there)... but really any age under 21. You wanna go out, you want to go to the bars have fun with your friends or maybe just have some drinks in a basement somewhere. Whatever. The law says you can't. Bummer.

So you sneak alcohol into your purse. You party when your parents aren't home. You carry false identification to get into the clubs. Sure you might be breaking the rules, but you're bringing something to the party. You're bringing your energy, your jokes, your dance moves, your drinking abilities, your all around sluttiness - whatever it may be, you're making the party a better place just for being there (whether you're supposed to not).

So isn't illegal immigration kinda like being underage? But like, forever? Forced to sneak across the border, avoid the police and take on false identities... sure, maybe you're not technically supposed to be at the Party in the USA, but you're bringing forth your talents, work ethic and traditions to make the county a more happening place. I say party on.

Except no one wants to be 20 years old forever. And no one like getting ID'd by cops in bars (Como). So back off Arizona. You're really a buzz kill.

Perfectly Lonely

Yes. I'm alone. In my large empty house. For an entire week. (Side note- if you are a murder/rapist/burglar, I have an extremely vicious dog named Franklin protecting me. Umm sure... Well, he is rather large.)

I'm not usually good at being alone. In fact, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I was left home alone when growing up. Living with six other loud, tall, boisterous people I didn't find peace and quiet very often. But when I did I savored it- people didn't get it. Maybe they saw too many scary movies or just thought I'd be scared in an old creepy house by myself. But seriously people, ME time is me time - and we're talking about ME here (I really like me).

But something strange happened when I went to college. I had tons of time to myself... probably too much time judging from some of my old facebook posts. I started to crave the company of others- all the time. I'm not sure if my friends just thought I was obsessed with them or crazy or both but I really started wanting to be around them all the time. (I mean it was kinda understandable- they are kinda amazing :)

So where am I going with this? Do I crave what I don't have in terms of spending time with myself/others? Knowing me probably. However, I am happy to report that this week has pleasantly surprised me. Sure living life as a recluse has its occasional downsides but I like to think Boo Radley was a little bit sexy. Drowning myself in text messages, dvr on my tv and redbox movies hasn't been bad either.

So maybe I've mastered it. The perfectly loneliness John Mayer sings of. Okay, so I think he was talking about being single, but let's get real, we all know I'm terrible at that. And although I've learned a lot about myself this week - don't expect any miracles.

Or maybe all my inner insecurities will build up and I'll go batshit crazy. Maybe I'll wake up at 3am unable to be coaxed back to sleep by the continuous Mad Men marathon on AMC (ps- how awesome is that?!) and need to be comforted by my cat or my mother or Mika or even our household ghost my family swears to. Maybe I'll even call you. That could be fun.

I swear haven't heard any voices yet but if I do I promise you I'll go out and find some kind of social interaction. Until then, I figured out I don't really mind being alone. And I like to think that's some kind of growth (or back-years thinking, depending on how you look at it.)