nasty nineteen. noble nineteen. nefarious nineteen.

 18 was hell. I think my life works out went I am a prime number. 13. 17. hopefully 19.  I know it is talked about all the time- maybe even too much- but growing up is odd. Scary. Weird. 

I never formally thought about 19, however. I always imagined turning 18 and then flashing to like 29. Without unlocking something new like being able to drive or drink, there are literally only cons when getting older. Which, whatever we can sit here and talk about how hating aging is misogynistic and deeply rooted in society and how aging is beautiful. But the truth of the matter is that I am a very scared eighteen year old who thought her whole world was going to collapse (burn more likely I was a really big global warming worrier at 12) when I faced responsibility. Sadly (or happily idk yet), that did not happen. World kept spinning. I am here. 

I can't think of any famous nineteen-year-olds. Okay. Just searched famous birthdays. Alabama Barker. Will I manifest into an Alabama Barker prototype when the clock strikes 12 on February 26th? Maybe. Maybe not.  

It feels somewhat pointless to write about how I'm scared of the unknown and growing up. I guess it's pointless to write anything anymore. I feel most things I have experienced have happened in some regard to someone else at some point in time. I could google right now "19 year old scared of future" and I am sure I will find someone else like me. Maybe I can find comfort in the idea that everyone is in the same boat. Majority of the time it just makes me daydream about what would happen if I went back in time with the knowledge I know now and become a Nobel laurate. 

Nineteen-year-old Nobel laurate. Has a nice ring to it. 

-A.K.

Rom Coms have ruined my (love) life

Maybe a bit dramatic. Hopefully a bit dramatic...

I do believe it do be true, however. If I could go back in time and make myself watch The Terrifier over some romantic comedy, I would, and I would do it a hundred times again. 

I was a casual rom com viewer- maybe a handful a month. However, I truly believe it warped and fried something in my brain. I have yet to discover what part of my brain melted during the technicolor love fest, but I am certain it was imperative to have that during my college years.

What a BORING story. Loser high school girl (A. Theater kid B. Choir kid C. English freak) who never had a boyfriend goes to college and blossoms into a beautiful, charismatic flirt! As I came to University of Alabama, I was fully under the impression that I would find my soon-to-be husband, or even several flings. But as the days pass by, I am growing more and more pissed. WTF! Not a soul has glided down bleachers singing a tune, or even had the DECENCY to have a witty back and forth banter with me. And trust me, I've tried.

         The sun sets as I glide a Maybelline smoky brown eyeliner in my waterline. The frat party of the week, broadcasting all over the school-wide Snapchat story. My hair falls into a mediocre mess of curls. I quickly tug at my new lacy black top. I looked odd. Not my usual style, but I thought it was fine for the theme. I roll my eyes as my roommate and I venture into the Uber.

    Making it into the muddy lawn of the frat house, I make eye contact with a boy. Decent looking, beer in hand. 

Him: Hey.

Me: Hey. 

Him: What's your major?

Me: Guess

Him: Hm. Nursing?

Me: Nope. English.

Him: Oh. Law school?

Me: Nope.

Him: English teacher, got it. 

I laughed instinctively. I normally laugh at comments like this. 

Wooooshhhh out of the Wattpad fanfic. SO not romantic, right. Every. Single. Time. My major is my kryptonite. Or at least that's what I've been saying every time I leave one of these events. But I am fully starting to believe it is my brain. And with each Valentines day passing by with a lack of plans so to speak, I continue to envy the lovers. Very common I know. But what is a girl to do. 

Okay. Tangent over. Happy February. 

-A.K. (cupid)