Getting Grown Up

Walking through a haze of hippies, hemp and headshops at the Haight Street Fair; through drum circles, teenage runaways and generic fair booths with pamphlets about sustainability and shit, I managed to do the least expected thing I could possibly think of.
I registered to vote. For the first time. Much to the surprise of the woman asking people to register, apparently. Asking me not once but, twice, "are you sure you're not registered?"
Yes folks, thats right, despite seeming like a person who cares about things - I have never really cared that much about politics to register. Ohhh Ive had plenty of excuses: I don't know where to register? I don't know which county I should register in. I don't make enough money for it to matter. I don't care to vote for a douchebag OR turd sandwich...Like any other 18-25 yr old, I have been full of excuses, and really, full of shit.
Well, despite where you think this blog post may be going, I'm still kinda full of shit, and proving it by BARELY doing what's necessary to be an adult. Case in point, not registering till age 26, and as of the publication of this post - without a drivers license.
Now, I can point to a few things on the floating list of life experiences that would lead one to believe there are some adult-like qualities represented. But seriously, wtf does it mean to be an adult? The government says, reaching the age of 18. Mother nature says, able to make babies. I'm starting to come to the conclusion that the actual qualifier for adulthood is the ability to rationalize kow-towing to the institution for some marginal gain.
Before you begin formulating your "here's why youre wrong/why your logic is flawed" comment to muddle up this little online thought bubble of mine, keep in mind I just spent $20 on a sandwich at lunch and got charged $3.00 for a drink refill...feelin' pretty adult-like.