I'm a legit loser.

You better believe it folks. I am 18. Oh, no whoop? Yeah I guess its not that big of a deal. Its a small pitiful validation for youngsters who just wish they were really the big 2-1, but thats okay- I'll take anything I can get.

On the night of my birthday, as I was drifting off to sleep (hence the "Dreams" part of the category), I found that it was terribly difficult to do so with rumba encalsa blasting from downstairs. So here I am, birthday girl ready to close for the evening with the spasmodic (you like that huh, Hermatzers) encantment of salsa, and I say to my dad, "Can you PLEASE turn that shit down?" (Well, not exactly that diction but its kinda cool to pretend I could talk to mi padre like that without getting my car taken away)

And of course, he wasnt able to hear me over the music and salsa-ing.

To help, just cuz it was me burday, my sister says;
"Dad, Daisy says for you to turn that music down!"
"Does she pay rent?"
"Oh, I guess not. NEEVVERMIND!"

Wow. Dad, what ever happened to "Of course, for MY baby" or the "Oh, Daisy's trying to sleep, lets dance with a little less ooomph". Harsh. So lemme tell ya kids, being 18 aint all what it used to be. Yeah sure you get to buy cigarettes and get into hookah lounges, but you've been doing that since you were 14. Puhleese. 18 is the welcoming into consequences, like rent for example; I have been blessed my entire life and yet I still choose to type blogs over homework, so therefore my consequence will now be paying rent (okay, not a terrific example considering teh two are polar). Well I dont really know where i was going with this consequences thing, but I've been eighteen for a while now (a whole week!), and no pony has galloped to my door nor have I found my genie. Therefore, I conclude that being 18 is dumb, and they trick you into thinking your one of the elitest but it just means you work jury duty and pay taxes liek the rest of the grown-ups.

Tell me why this blog was sooo long. Tell me. Tell me. "Tell me why, aint nothing my a heartttacchee", couldnt help myself. Okay, done ranting, if the few of you who've gotten down to this point would liek to comment on what wastes all my blogs are (execpt for Obama 2008, which I whole heartedly support until my death), feel free to. No, I wont delete them. I'll just sit here and accept that mean comments are all apart of turning 18.

Bitches.