25 & Incessently Poked By The Boner of Mortality

“The time has come,” the walrus said. “To remind you that you forgot to do your taxes and that you are too old to be wearing that Juicy tracksuit.”

 

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Isn’t she a beauty? Damn. I still cannot believe that this striking creature hasn’t been nabbed by some prince by now. Yet, here we are.

And here I am, hours from living through a once highly-anticipated milestone (turning 25), and I can’t help but think back on what I once thought I would have had accomplished by now. I mean, sure, I can now legally rent a car, hotel room and I only have 2 more years to be on my parents’ health insurance, but what else could really be so life changing? It’s just another year, right? Let’s just take a second and remember what preadolescent us thought we would be doing by this point in our lives.

…As most of you are aware, I recently made a public inquiry to my close friends and family as to what dreams or ambitions they had hoped to have achieved by age 25. Here are some of my favorites:

  • “When I was little, I wanted to grow a penis by the time I was 18, so that I could use the men’s restroom without getting in trouble..”
  • “I wanted to own a factory that manufactured stationary.. I’m still not sure why..”
  • “I thought by the time I turned 25 that I would be a major league baseball player and that I would have a wife and a girlfriend. But no kids..”
  • “When I was 9, I told my parents I was going to be the first woman to be on a shoe. My brothers all had Air Jordans and I thought it was unfair. So, I planned on putting him out of business..”
  • “When I was 10, I got suspended for telling my class, on career day, that I was going to make dirty magazines for a living.. I had found a Penthouse in my dad’s office a few weeks earlier and when he caught me, he said that it was very normal and completely acceptable to want to view that kind of material and that I can look at it whenever I want as long as I don’t tell my mom.. Mind you, it was a naked woman, who appeared to be in pain, lying on a kitchen counter, with a banana hanging out of her snatch… (I’m still in therapy) He also told me that everyone has to make a living, and that I shouldn’t judge the makers of that magazine. ‘It’s a very respectable job, like being a teacher or a police officer’, he said. Apparently my teacher and principal did not agree..”
  • “I always wanted to be an astronaut/housewife/mom.. And then I learned you don’t have to graduate from college to get knocked up..”
  • “When I thought about being 25, I couldn’t even see it, it was so far away. But I had always assumed I would be married and/or a doctor.. Then I found out you have to like, really go to school for that.. So, I work at a bar..”

 

And then, yours truly (age 8):

“When I’m 25, I will either be a professional soccer player, married to a professional soccer player, and we will hug and play soccer all the time, or I will be in a traveling circus. I will not be married, but I will have a pet monkey, Arthur..”

… Do you think the term ‘red flag’ meant anything to my parents? SPOILER ALERT: your kid is out of her fucking mind.

I also really wanted to be on Bug Juice or Legends of The Hidden Temple. To this day, if the wind is still enough, you can catch my sister and I making belligerent insinuations at our nonexistent ten seconds of Nickelodeon-infused stardom. But that’s neither here nor there.

 

I think it’s safe to say that most of us were on the same page as far as big career dreams and unreasonable expectations. So, as we face the inevitable nearing of our metaphorical life horizon; how can we find solace and comfortability with where we have ended up? I realize all the heightening social pressures each of us face as we’re getting older, but do we really have to let that deter us from fulfilling our own personal goals? In a perfect world, I think we would all love to have it all, but just because we may not, does that equate to not having anything? Which brings me to my next question, are our hopes and dreams really our own? Are the expectations we have unintentionally set for ourselves really set by us? Or as we have gotten older, have we let societal and cultural birthrights overshadow creative or sacred ambitions of our own?

 

Look man, I’m just as lost as you in all of this, but rather than taking this as a ‘quarter life crisis’, it has now become more of a ‘quarter life, let’s take a bunch of Adderall and go through my old report cards while listening to the Millennium album’. See? I’m fine! I’m not ashamed or disappointed with where life has me at the moment, by any means, although it is a little bit surreal to see how fast it has gone, all of the cultural milestones I have so publicly and gracefully failed to adhere to by now hold about as much relevance as Fred Phelps’ pulse. I never thought that at twenty five I would be single, living with my parents and working 3 jobs to pay back a Kardashian-appearance adjacent medical debt. But that’s the pearl necklace that life has set me up with and I will be shameless in continuing my journey to eventually get past it without resorting to drugs, internet porn or cats. You’re never unscathed when you have cats… Or was that Christ?

 

 

Bear in mind, all, reflection is all this is. There is no judgment or criticism. Think of it as kind of a progress report, if you will.

 

So, let’s look back, shall we? I’m twenty-four (fuck you, I still have 12 more hours),
I am not married, mostly due to my attitude, hankering for hitting people in the cock, general fear of sober emotional intimacy and because I don’t fucking want to be, Grandma.
I do not have children, mostly due to the makers of the Nuva Ring, Camel Menthols and my aptness for accidentally sitting on hangers rather than dicks.
I am not a college graduate, mostly due to vodka sold in large plastic bottles, Kite’s $1 sliders and my inability to take anything more than a subtweet seriously.
I am not a professional soccer player, mostly due to my abhoration for being told what to do, quit-ty tendencies and like, running is hard.
I am not in a circus, (though you should see what I can do with a bottle of champagne and a barstool) mostly due to the fact that my mother probably told them about all of my behavioral issues and they didn’t want me.
Womp womp womp.
And last but certainly not least, I do not have a pet monkey; for reasons I am not exactly clear on, other than that movie ‘Buddy’, probably. (For those of you who are unfamiliar, it’s the feature length equivalent of Thomas J dying, over and over again, but with a gorilla)

Regardless, here I am, without any of those things, yet, I don’t feel like I have failed. Mostly for the following reasons: I am twenty four (shut up), and I have been in love, I have been educated, I have overcome heartbreak, overall laziness, worthlessness and most notably, a life threatening disease. I am a sub-moderately well adjusted contributing member of society. And god dammit, that’s good enough for twenty five year old me, so ten year old me should probably worry about her attention deficiency and future alcohol dependency and leave me the hell alone.

  The beautiful thing in all of this is that we’ve still got time. We can harp and dwell on the fact that we never became astronauts, stationary factory owners, transvestites, mothers, fathers and doctors, or we can accept the fact that we’ve essentially been shaking ourselves at the urinal, while the rest of our generation went out there and did what they were compelled to do twenty years ago. But let’s be honest, how many of them probably did that? I mean, we all weren’t blessed with Asian parents.

 

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In an age of ‘thinspiration’ Tumblr pages (and really, fucking Tumblr at all), twerking and other obscure, but no less various forms of publicly shaming generations of mothers and fathers before us, I think it’s more important now then ever to focus our time and energy on productive outlets that will lead to, if not personal success, personal fulfillment. Just because we’re not aging nearly as gracefully or slowly as Pharrell, does not mean that we have to sit back and accept the heap of ‘meh’ we have found ourselves up to our balls in. And rather than hunkering down and just counting the hours between now and the next big one. (yeah, 30, dude. Woof) I propose we flip all these preposterous Facebook tauntings, (what? Don’t you hear the voices too?) on their asses and make a new trail for the morons to come after us. Perhaps, rather than being societally damned for surpassing age 24 without an engagement ring, how about shooting for a career that either pays awesome or makes you feel awesome. Or at least be in some sort of a gratifying sexual relationship, whether that be with another human being or a battery operated friend.

 Look honey, we all have our vices. My healthiest relationship in the past 2 years is with a small purple fella, Mike Clitka. Like I said, DO WHAT/WHO MAKES YOU FEEL GOOD

 

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So, instead of feeling like pieces of shit for not having a Facebook picture with a member of the opposite sex and a fucking chalkboard that says “Guess who didn’t use contraception?” with a winky face next to it, why not feel satisfied and, dare I say it, damn-near happy that you are where you are in your present day life? With that said, in order to achieve this, there will be certain stipulations that I’m less than enthralled to admit out loud, but alas: we’re probably approaching the time in our lives where it is no longer acceptable to do the following things, due to their direct correlation to self deprecation:

– watching Teen Mom. (Okay. Wait. How about like, telling people that you Watch Teen Mom?) (Baby steps and shit, right?… See what I did there?)
– getting drunk and texting your ex ANYTHING, let alone hateful stuff. Come on, guys. We’re better than this.
– engaging in any kind of dramatic or negative exchange with miserable people of unfortunate circumstance. It’s not worth it to get your two-cents in when it will cost you the respect and notoriety of far more important people.
– stop being mean to your parents. It’s not cute anymore and they’re usually doing their best. You blew enough people freshman year to make the point that they should have let McCormick & Schmick’s cater your graduation party. And they’re sorry. So, stop being a cunt.
– tights will always be pants. That will never change. Unless, of course, your underwear is too small and your camel looks like it got stung by a bee. In which case, you may only wear tights as pants if you purchase looser undies. The only thing that should be tearing into your ass and making your twat look that angry is a St. Patrick’s Day hook-up.
– your bank account is still a mysterious phenomenon of inconsistency that we may continue to abuse for the next 5-12 years. But no more.
– texting (Snapchatting) naked pictures of yourself with your face in it. Stop. When you mass text your girls for #TittyTuesday and then are flabbergasted when your rack shows up on one of those revenge sites, no one feels bad for you.
– stop not wearing a condom.

I think we’ve covered more than enough for this month’s issue of: ‘Habits we have no intention of ceasing to continue, though we’re not going to admit to doing anymore’. I would like to leave you with this little spicy McNugget of liquid courage; Fuck anyone that makes any sort of implication that whatever it is you’re doing, outside the immediate circle of crime or weird fetishes, that makes you feel good, is fucking wrong. There is nothing more beautiful in this day and age than seeing a person our age who is steadfast and unshakeable in the commitment to what he or she loves to do.

 

All jokes aside, I really appreciate all of the unconditional love and support I’ve received from all of you. And we are in the midst of being in works of having this pay off in the foreseeable to very foreseeable future. Damn, I do a mean ‘vague’.

But in all seriousness, you guys have been so great. I hope you continue to participate and read as we travel further down this winding Paul Walker-esque road of the unknown.

As always, good vibes and no UTI’s.

2 thoughts on “25 & Incessently Poked By The Boner of Mortality

  1. I love reading your rants and raves. You really do have writing talent. Your open-ness and blunt approach are so refreshing. You are also very sexy, both looks and personality. I wish I knew a little more about you to know if we could chat more in private….

  2. Ok, gisher’s right. You are brillant and need to get back in college. One of the toughest distraction for me during my (cough) years on this earth, has be men. (Remember, I’m a painter, not a writer. So this whole rant,may not be note worthy) Had three serious relationships. Only one of them had the goal of keeping my ass barefoot,pregnant and lock away from the world.(Needed a lot of therapy after that, he did a number on me,bastard. People like him feed on other’s insecurities) We All Need to Stay focused on our Goals! I’ve found that, if a partner really cares, your goals, become their goals. Ditch them when they try to control you through the groin, drugs, religion or tradition. It’s not about control, it’s about helping each other become better humans and achieving your/his/her’s dreams. You are more than a twat. Your writing PROVES you have great intellect and have more to offer. Aim higher because you deserve it.

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