12 or 13 And A Long Way To Go Till I'm 40

Ok. So I went to my cousin's wedding the other day.

And I'm not messing around when I say...I looked pretty fly.
...or so I thought.

I was wearing a sweet black suit with a light blue collared dress shirt underneath, I did my hair complete with gel and all. AND instead of wearing my Harry Potter glasses (which I hate) I endangered my life and put on a really old prescription (like 8th grade old) just so I could wear my silver frames. Because silver frames went much better with the look I was trying to accomplish. I was trying to accomplish a Justin Timberlake, bringin' sexyback kinda look...not Harry Potter dressed up like a muggle going to an 8th grade dance.

So I thought I looked pretty good when I walked out the door. Apparently though, I failed.

No joke, I am not out the door 10 minutes before my "hey I'm lookin' fly" attitude got knocked down to a "Jesus, I'm going to look like a 13 year old for the rest of my life" sorta attitude really fast.

So here's what happened: my bro and me are rolling to the wedding in our ultra-pimp ride (Subaru Forester). We're rolling low listening to some phat beats (93 XRT). And we're stuck at a stoplight. That day, there were people out collecting money for something. Most of the time, I give 'em my change or a dollar or something, but as I was concentrating on looking fly...I tried not to make eye contact as the man came by my window.

This man had other ideas. He stops outside my window and is staring at me looking very incredulous. He's saying things to me I can't hear, and continues to act in a manner of utter disbelief and shock. He motions for me to roll down my window, so I do just a crack. The following conversation ensues:
MAN AT MY WINDOW: How old are you???!!
ME: Uh, I'm 21.
MAN AT MY WINDOW: What??! Are you serious? You look like you're 12 or 13!!!
ME: Yeah, I get that a lot.
MAN AT THE WINDOW: I bet you do.
I roll up my window. Ok, jerk...not a good way to go about getting a dollar from me. Thanks for taking my "hey I'm lookin' fly" attitude and beating it with a stick.

Everyone tells me I'll like it when I'm 40 and look like I'm 30. Maybe I will. But I've got a LONG way to go before I turn 40. And it's one thing to be 21 years old and have people card you all the time-or look at your ID to you to your ID to you like you're trying to pull a fast one. It's one thing to be 21 and be mistaken for an 18 year old or even a 16 year old. But come on??
13??!!
12???????????????
Really?????

Well, at least it gives me something to laugh about.

So as soon as I get one I'm going to post a picture of me from the wedding and I'm going to take a poll:
Is Amy...
a) Bringing Sexyback
b) 12 or 13
c) Bringing Sexyback to the junior high dance

THEN...the drama continues...

So the bartender at the wedding kept calling me "guy" like..."Hey guy, what can I get for you?" I guess I made the mistake of ordering diet cokes first instead of cocktails, but in case you haven't already gathered, I'm small and I have to pace myself when it comes to the alcohol. PLUS somehow I got to be the designated driver so my brother could have a drink even though he's only 18. How did it work out that I, the legal one, got the shaft of being the DD so my underage brother could have a drink???
ANYWAY
So I order a couple diet cokes from the bartender, each time I go up he's like, "What can I get you guy?"
Which, hey, I get that I don't look typically feminine and I don't mind if people are mistake me for a dude from time to time. But he kept saying this to me each time I went up and "What can I get you guy?" Is like one step a way from being called "Big Guy" or "Shooter" or "Cowboy." If anyone called me any of those things...I would probably punch their lights out.
SO
Finally I decide it's time for Amy to have her cocktail (well times to be right before the dancing started) and she orders a Cranberry and Vodka and against her better judgment, a Rum and Coke for her underage brother. So the bartender asks to see my ID. There are two of them back there and it the two of them to look at it.
BARTENDER NUMBER 1: Amy....
ME: Yup.
BARTENDER NUMBER 2: April?
ME: No, I'm Amy.
BARTENDER NUMBER 1: No, your birthday...
ME: (Looking confused) No...
BARTENDER NUMBER 2: Oh, January. I see now. The light is bad back here is bad.
BARTENDER NUMBER 1: January 1st, huh?
ME: Yup.
BARTENDER NUMBER 2: 1986, huh? Just made it by couple months.
BARTENDER NUMBER 1: 1986...just made it...
WHAT??? Is this a goddamn interrogation? No, I didn't just make it by a couple months. I'm 21 goddamn years old. I'm legal. Give me my drink and shut you mouth. It's not like I'm coming up here every 10 minutes downing martini after martini.
And you better not call me "Big Guy" if you value your life...
Ha.

I go back like an hour later and the same thing...
"What can I get you guy?"
What I should have asked for was shot of whiskey and a can of beer. Then I should have shot the whiskey, wiped my mouth with my sleeve, then downed the can of beer in one gulp and crushed the can on my forehead.
What I actually did ask for was another diet coke...