For this week’s column, I have decided that I will be taking a break from talking about relationships or sex. I will instead be talking about a much more important, much sexier topic: myself.

This past Tuesday, I celebrated my 21st birthday. 21! That is insane for me to think about, let alone type, because it means that I am finally, despite many years of struggling and fighting, getting old.

Though it’s great that I can now legally purchase alcohol within the confines of these great United States, it’s also depressing to think that, as my friend recently told me, ‘this is the beginning of the end.’

But rest assured, dear reader, this column is not just me complaining about being able to drink legally. This is an opinion piece after all, so I should be trying to persuade you about something.

Well, I suppose the point I am trying to make is this: The day you turn 21 is the day you die.

Whoa, that sounded pretty intense. Let me rephrase that, if I may. The day that you turn 21 is the day that you officially stop being a child and have to legitimately think about living in the real world.

Teenagers everywhere love to boast that at 18 years old, you’re an adult. You can drive, you can vote, hell, you can even serve and die in the military. But, for a large number of us, at 18 years old we have at least four whole years left before we have to enter the real world. And make no mistake about it ‘ college is not the real world.

You have days where you can sleep well into the afternoon, it is acceptable to spend the day in pajamas, alcoholism is regularly accepted as the norm (technically it’s not counted as alcoholism until you graduate) and many of the women that you meet are actually NOT looking for a long-term relationship.

Doesn’t really sound like the real world, does it?

But I digress.

At 20 years old, I had two long years left before finding a job became a reality, two glorious years at Binghamton left. But this Tuesday, I hit the big 2-1. Suddenly I am overwhelmed with job interviews and e-mails telling me that graduation is just around the corner.

Gone to me are the days of spending a Saturday morning watching cartoons or a Sunday afternoon playing sports with friends. I guess I should just burn my SpongeBob blanket and shoot any action figures or stuffed animals that I see, because my childhood is over. The rest of my life (and of anyone else’s life who hits 21) shall be filled with work, responsibility and mature decision-making. Where’s ‘Logan’s Run’ when you need it?

Seriously though, it’s not all downhill. At least I figured out why the drinking age was moved from 18 to 21. College is a blast, and honestly, even without alcohol we’d all still enjoy ourselves. But after that graduation ceremony? Game over, man. That’s when those guys Jack Daniel and Johnnie Walker that we kind of know become our best friends.

Depressing? Maybe. Realistic? I guess that depends on you ‘ and your major. I’m a business guy, so maybe the real world hits me faster than it hits some of you. So to those of my readers who will be attending grad school in the fall (medical school excluded, you guys have my deepest sympathies), I’d like to leave you with a toast:

‘Here’s to you and here’s to me / The best of friends we’ll always be / But if we should ever disagree / Then FUCK all of you, and / Here’s to me.’

Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to spend the remainder of my birthday week hanging out with two very dear old friends of mine. Happy birthday to me!