How Abba ruined my birthday.

I love my birthday. I know that sounds incredibly narcissistic, but it's true. It's not so much the fact that I get gifts that I love (though you will never hear me complain about it), but it's more so the fact that I have something to look forward to. I will give you periodic countdowns just to keep you on your toes. (One month and one week from today, by the way). I also love the fact that my birthday happens to be nestled in the greatest season of all times- autumn. Fall. Whichever you prefer, I love the rain, grey skies and endless opportunities to wear sweatpants and boots that fall has to offer. This time of year just makes me feel so energized and gets my creative juices flowing. But anyway, back to my birthday.

Now I have never not been excited for a birthday. In fact, until just a few minutes ago, I've been excited about my upcoming birthday for years on end. I'm finally turning 18! I'll be a legal adult of the United States. I and only I will own me, I will be the one calling the shots in my newfound adult domain. Sweet liberation! I mean, who wouldn't be excited? Well, leave it to Abba to ruin it for me. I just heard the song "Dancing Queen" and instantly got really, really sad. No longer will I be able to sing along and think of myself as the dancing queen. Once October 13 rolls around, no longer will I be young, sweet, and only 17.  When you are a young girl and hear that song, all you want is to finally be 17 so that Abba would be singing about you. Even though the only tambourine that you will likely be feeling the beat of will be during a rehearsal for your high school band class, that's not the point! The point is that being 17 makes you free, young, and sweet. You can dance and jive to your heart's content and never get arrested for it because you are a minor. Once the dancing queen is 18, that becomes a whole different song. That turns into Ke$ha's "Blow", where:

Dirt and glitter
Cover the floor
We're pretty and sick
We're young and we're bored


Granted, you are still young, but you are no longer sweet! You got bored of the tambourine and are now on the floor covered with glitter and dirt. You go crazy and lose your mind and wear blue lipstick and studs on your eyebrows. Dancing queen is no more. Let's just compare a young and sweet dancing queen to her 18 year old counterpart; 

Nothing screams innocence more than an 18th century costume. The beauty of being young is you are allowed to be naive, obviously. Now let's look what happens after Dancing Queen's metamorphosis into wild and crazy adulthood...

Lord have mercy. Your mythological unicorn friends are now alcoholics. You're dressed like Britney Spears and making out with a one eyed unicorn. You rip off your bra in the middle of a party. There is no hope for you as an outstanding citizen once you surpass the Dancing Queen stage of your life. Quite frankly, this makes me a little sad. I don't want to make out with one eyed unicorns. Give me a tambourine and I'll be entertained for at least an hour. All I want it to hold on to that innocence a little longer. I doubt that Abba would agree to bump the dancing queen's age a year, so I suppose I will just have to resign my crown when the time comes. I'm sure that I'll find another song to celebrate being 18. Though all I've got is Alice Cooper's "I'm 18" ('cause I'm eighteen I get confused every day, eighteen I just don't know what to say, eighteen I gotta get away'). 

Going from a young and sweet dancing queen to an angsty, confused adult. I suppose that is life.