Helllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooo youth! I never want to give you up! I don't want to grow up, I'm a [sex] toys 'r us kid!
When is it exactly that we are supposed to be mature and old and respected and boring and sensible? When do we have to commit to the youth-availing suit and tie, the sobering death via cubicle and the life-sucking routine of adult life? Really, when do I have to stop investing in re-runs of Teen Mom and start investing in oil bonds or mortgages? Do I really have to stop boozing six nights a week to wake up at six in the morning and like, drive to work?? Wait, so I have to eventually make enough money to BUY a house? WEIRDDDDDDDD. [insert hand over face emoticon]
Stop, does this mean online dating is going to become an option now? [pause for existential life questioning and read "L’Étranger" to make oneself feel only slightly better]
I'm not so sure about the other twenty-two year youngins out there, but sometimes I am still afraid to admit I am tired. If I fall asleep I might miss out on the conversation, or the good times, or the fact that Clarissa is *finally* admitting to taking it in the butt from that fugly foreign exchange student five years ago in high school [cue sleeping puppy eyes - MUST STAY AWAKE]. Sometimes, I deserve to be put in a diaper. Sometimes, I want to call up mommy and tell her that everyone hates me and that she needs to send me something nice in the mail to make me feel better and loved by someone in the #cold, #dark world. Sometimes, ok, always, I am afraid of the dark (c'mon that one scene in "The Sixth Sense" with the chick and the arm under the bed will forever stay with me and I swear to whatever god I am praying to at this point that that sneaky little bitch has lived under each and every bed I have ever slept in to this day - leave me alone already!).
When will it actually be inappropriate to make jokes about Hellen Keller, or to scale back on my usage of words like blumpkin, fart-bomb, and wiener? Can I still call sex "stuffing my pork sword in a gentle meat grinder" when I am fifty? Can I? CAN I?
Ah youth, why doth thou evade me so quickly?
As the new year approaches, and as quickly as the greys creep into my luscious new mustache, I shall compile a list of those things I deem may be slightly too boozey to take forth into the new year, simply as a remembrance [of the past two weeks - giggle giggle - KrAzEe TiMeZ] of what not to do as I become the more 'mateurized' (similar to pasteurized but with a human twist) version of me.
1. There is no such thing as an obligation to sex. (So I may or may not have used this as an excuse to sleep with someone who might as well have been a 0 on the binary scale - let me say that it is not one of my prouder moments)
2. A shot is not a date, nor is it enough time to get to know someone enough to rodeo them back to your bedroom for a rodeo.
3. Peeing on an ATM is both disgusting and difficult if one is trying to take out cash simultaneously.
4. Street food does count, even if you don't remember it, and even if you throw half of the rice in the air pretending its your wedding because at the time you were depressed (duh, you were eating your forth chicken and rice) and sobbing that it will be your only wedding because you are unloveable.
5. Fighting at a club will only be an ok look if you have as many Twitter followers as Kim Kardashian (otherwise, you look like one of the tools from the Jersey Shore clawing and gnawing at their inevitable loss of fame).
6. Public blowjobs, 'nuff said.
7. "Am I not cute enough" is a line that will not only lose interest of the person you are hitting on, but will make you seem as though you are fishing for a compliment that no one wants to give you because you are a conceited betch, and beb, you already know the answer. [mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most vain of them all? - YOU, YOU HOTT BITCH!]
8. If you don't have a perscrip, chances are you don't need the pill (you're thinking, whatevs I took a bio class once in college, it'll be fine, cue puking and screaming for your life naked somewhere in the desert and pondering every insignificant decision you made about your life up until this very point in time).
9. Challenging oneself to a makeout million night is only successful in seeking oral herpes (which reminds me to go to CVS and pick up some cold sore cream - ouchskies!).
10. Faking an accent is not a real accent. Faking the need to wear glasses does not magically create blindness and general style points.
From here forth these things shall be thought about as I begin my 'pre-game' with 200 jello shots and a bottle of Crystal Palace next time, and therefore considered to be on the naughty list before I get hammesauced. Will these easy steps be followed or will I simply continue to be plain ole easy? All I'm saying is, I definitely don't have to go to work tomorrow, and there are two for one specials tonight at the strip club so... you do the math.
Why grow up when we don't have to? We aren't dying at thirty five any more and we aren't rushing to the alter to make mommy and daddy proud, so why not live it up and make silly mistakes? After all, it's not a good look to be sixty and pissing in the closest Chase Bank, so why not afford these decisions at twenty two? Call me Peter Pan, I guess, but I'm on the pain train all the way to a massive hangover and waking up next to Lindsay Lohan. I'd rather live for the story then not have one at all.
