Here I stand, at 21. I LOOK the same, my room looks the same, Alice looks the same, my friends look the same but somehow it is NOT the same. I am trying to pinpoint exactly where I am NOT the same and I actually think I found it at The Rainbow Room in Hollywood.

I began my journey into my very first 21+ place (here's another audience participation prompt to ooh and aah) just a few days ago. Got my hand stamped, my ID checked extra thouroughly (I am a youthful 21) and in I pranced... to the *other* side of the gate - a feat for me, since I had always wondered what else was there. To my surprise it was a very nice place, rock n roll memoribilia in the italian restraunt inside, pictures and pictures of random and famous people, people, people, people, arcade games, a dancefloor that surprisingly only played old metal and a very healthy bar crowd lined up at the bartenders mercy - an early liquor crowd at 10:30pm. One thing I noted is that I was probably the only girl (woman?) in that place wearing pink hi top Converse and I was probably the only girl/woman who didn't have a memory of this place beforehand. Oh, and let's not forget the amounts of cleaveage. The men, on the other hand, were of all sorts. Young, older, old. Leather, velvet, plaid. Mohawk, mullet, buzz. Sober, drunk, intoxicated. Walking around taking the scene in, I just couldn't help but be mystified by the 'bar crowd'. In this moment, I was now a part of it. I'm sure I stuck out like a sore thumb in my pink converse and stripey shirt but what else is new, and I was totally wet behind the ears. But I liked it... and ordered a Coke sans rum, the non drinker that I am.

As the night pressed on, so did the alcohol. The waitresses started getting beads of sweat on their brows and bulging pockets (I have to tip them EVERY time I get a drink! The horror...), the chatter became louder and a bit slurred, the bumping-into-me-which-I-hate became more frequent. I still sipped on my Coke - I never did like bar Cokes.

It was at this point that I realized the difference between Ginger pre-January 18th and me post-January 18th. I could handle this. It wasn't because I can now consume liquor, but it was because now I was this weird girl/woman adult thing in pink hi-top Converse checking out boys (men?) and completley in charge of *me*. Not so much a revelation, but a realization of what it means to be 21. I am in control. It's something that I have to sit on, my feelings on it are something I have yet to hatch.

I do NOT want to be a part of the 'bar crowd' for too long. But I guess anyone says that - I don't like yelling all that much and I'd SO much prefer a concert over the social atrophy a bar makes me - I am shy. I still stood in the walkway gazing over at The Roxy wondering what was going on, who was playing, how the show was... while I watched all of them looking over at *me* wondering what was going on, who was dancing, how the Mai Tais were...

Perhaps it's just because I have no use for a 'bar' since I don't drink and I don't drive (so I can't be the designated driver... but I'm working on it). Perhaps it's my rejection to grow up... and still, I find myself wanting to go back. Not just to The Rainbow but to The Standard, to The Saddle Ranch, to the little dumpy bar in MY area - just because I can. And you know what?

I'm wearing my pink Converse THERE, too.