blech. i wrote stuff. i erased it as usual. i'll write something else instead.

twenty one means that i, erin b, can consume alcohol whenever i please. twenty one means i can sit in the restaurant smiling like a retard at the lovely drink sitting in front of me on the table. it means pointing and laughing at my twenty year old friend who can't consume beverages of the alcoholic persuasion and it means stabbing her with my fork when she sneaks sips while my head is turned. it gives me a reason to act more stupid than usual. to yell out of the car window at passing pedestrians informing them that, yes indeed, i DO poo out my ass. it gives me an excuse to skip around town and have animated conversations about monkeys [monkies?] with anyone who will listen. it gives your mother one more reason to think you're truly insane when you go outside and laugh histerically, pointing at the sky and yelling "HEY THERE IT IS! THERE IT IS!"

yes, dear readers, when they said "beer is liquid bread - it's good for you", they weren't lying.

oh spit.

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