Have any of you guys come to the inevitable mid-twenties decision that it’s finally, really, actually [going to do it this] time to get your shit together? I’m talking like you’ve spent the last eleven or so months laying around with your boyfriend smooching and binge-watching Breaking Bad and Scandal, smoking pack after pack of cigarettes and drinking bottle after bottle of tequila, putting off that whole finding a new job thing and then all of a sudden it’s the beginning of summer and you’ve got to find a new apartment, find a new job, arrange travel plans to go wish your grandfather a happy 90th birthday that requires renting a car and driving across the state, start getting back in shape AND quit smoking but also realizing that although you have to do all of this, you have NO CREDIT? Cause that’s what I’m going through.
Here’s the thing: some of it’s great. Forreal. I haven’t smoked in three days. I’ve gone on three runs and completed about three hours of yoga since Sunday. I feel great (minus the nicotine cravings that get really intense on that trolley ride home)! I’m getting healthy! I’ve also eaten an entire bag of gummy bears and gulped so much seltzer down that my body is approximately 90% sugar and bubbles right now. Baby steps. Oh, and that apartment thing: I’ve got a great one, one to share with the person I love, one to make into a home; if only the landlord would send over that lease. Again, baby steps.
Here are the downsides:
But that’s the thing. Summertime I want to drink and eat crappy hotdogs off the grill with my friends, and cigarettes go hand in hand with that. I want to spend my weekends hiking or swimming or visiting my family, and applying for jobs and credit cards is a drag.
You might be thinking, “Hey, Jayne, getting your shit together is never fun,” to which I would agree. But summer’s a whole different enchilada. I got spoiled as a kid. Three whole months off just to ride my bike around and go to the pool and eat french fries every day? Never having school on my birthday?! I mean, DREAM TOWN. So I know I’m complaining about nothing new, like usual, and most of the time I’m content enough with the maturation process. Today, I’m just craving a bit more youthfulness. Any of you got any hints at growing old with grace?
In the meantime, I’ll just be sitting in my floppy straw hat on the front porch, waiting for Peter Pan to show up with some elixir of youth. That’s how it works, right? Fifty bucks a vial, no wrinkles for awhile.
It was beautiful outside last weekend, and that’s an undeniable fact as it’s now April 16th (Happy Birthday Mama! #shameless #makingmomfamous #IWISH) and I’ve only worn NO PANTS twice. Well, in public. It got me thinking after my second hamburger and my twentieth gin and tonic, how many people in Philadelphia were having as pleasant of a time as I was?
Here are my estimates:
Number of Hamburgers/Hotdogs/Tofu dogs grilled: 625,014
Number of beers drank: 2,818,000
Number of cigarettes smoked: 1,500,000
Number of Sloppy Kisses: 412,001
Number of One Night Stands: 412,000
Number of Bad Decisions: 12 (On the first nice weekend of the year, a bad decision has to be like "I threw my best friend into a running car while posting it on Vine" BAD.)
Number of Too-Short Shorts worn: 320,000
Number of Sunburns acquired: 320,000
Number of Frisbees thrown: 609
Number of College Kids hammered: 450,000
Number of Brunches brunched: 9,542
Number of Selfies snapped: 2,345,678
Number of Smiles smiled: 1,548,000
Come back soon, Sun. I’ve got more porches to sit on.
heavy heeled when walking; heavy handed when pouring a drink