I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 27

A couple weeks ago I turned 27- not a particularly momentous milestone as far as birthdays go. At 25 I could rent a car and at 26 I was kicked off my parents’ health insurance plan, but 27? No big deal.

However, within forty-eight hours of my birthday I had purchased a car. This was significant for several reasons:

1.    The car had four doors.

2.   I did all the negotiating myself, with only minor consultation with my father- a feat I firmly believed I was incapable of until the frustration of being confined to my house superseded my car-buying anxiety.

3.   I met the dealer at McDonald’s in Junction City (the halfway point between us, but admittedly an odd place to broker a deal), signed all the paperwork and wrote a check for the entirety of my life savings.

Hello adulthood.

If I needed further proof that I am practically a real adult I found it in droves Friday night. My friend Kimberly and I went to outdoor concert that included a dozen or so bands and 18,000 audience members. After the first two bands my feet were achey and I wanted to sit down. Or perhaps lie down for a short nap.

I noticed immediately that we were surrounded by youths. As in high school students who looked like they were eleven and were complaining about their moms. And I found myself thinking the following thoughts:

Where are your parents? Why would they let you come un-chaperoned to an event where there are DRUGS and statistically speaking MULTIPLE REGISTERED SEX OFFENDERS?

Although we had an awesome time, we left before the final band because that seemed preferable to waiting for the 45 minutes it would take for them to set up the stage.  Plus, our feet were very tired.  Plus there was a very dramatic (read: intoxicated) woman behind us who was inciting violence and it became stressful.

The good news is that I got home with plenty of time to watch a couple of episodes of New Girl on Netflix before bed.

Hello old age.