When I Grow Up, I'm Gonna Rock.

When I Grow Up, I'm Gonna Rock.

When I think about my future, I typically focus on the things that I want to be and do. They’re relatively normal goals; be a rockstar journalist, have a house with a balcony on the water, obtain a husband who looks good in a tight t-shirt and blazer, and perhaps adopt a few dogs or a black baby. It’ll be the relatively low-key life I want, but I’m not going to be a bore. I do intend to have a good time.

I went to The Cult at Terminal 5 on Friday night, where my friend Chaz and I were surrounded by an array of concertgoers. Old bikers with worn-out bandanas, middle-aged groupies, sexually frustrated husbands who were physically unable to keep their bodies off said groupies, tired frat boys who can’t help but take off their shirts and pummel their sweaty bodies onto my face, and the usual scatterings of the average music lover who just need a good night out composed the crowd. Of course, we were the youngest ones there. Being surrounded by all of these rowdy people, it makes me want to take qualities that each of these people had and become one immense mid-life-crisis-aged music lover.

Except I won’t be as slutty as a groupie. I’ll also keep most of my clothes on.