September 16, 2005
send vodka or i will die

it has recently come to my attention that in a mere thirteen days, an ephemeral 313 hours, an approximate two and one half boxes of cheerios, i will be turning twenty five. yes, i measure time in cheerios. i might have to eat them for dinner a few times just to luxuriate in this last bit of twentyfour.

theoretically, i knew that i would be getting older. i mean it happens about this time every year. but this one kind of crept up on me, all sneaky like. it's not like twentyfour was so grand either. i moved away from all of my friends and family, which was hard. well, the friends part anyway. (just kidding mom! tell dad to send money!)

this year was the first year of my life that i was not in school. i had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. i'm one of those people who gets more done when i have more to get done. if there's only one thing on my to do list, you should pretty much forget it. unless it's make out with Boy, or say inappropriate things, because those are things i really try to do on a daily basis anyway. the only reasonable thing to do in this situation was to go work at a school, which of course i did, becoming an upstanding member of the community, and a good example for all.

i can hear you laughing from here.

this was also the year i worked for TheBeast*, who was a fifty-something woman that looked like this:

really. and i chose that background because she would love it.
you are seeing her in her natural environment.
do not feed her... she might bite.

the strangest thing to me might be that when i realize what i thought i would be doing at twentyfive, i also realize that i was way the fuck off. i am not driving around in my convertible car (with leopard print seats), hair perfectly blowing in the breeze. i don't have an airy loft-style apartment and a friendly maternal-figure maid to clean my bathtub and do my laundry. i am not a model/psychiatrist/best-selling author. and most appalling of all, i am not married to uncle jessie.

i drive a mazda. my apartment, well, we've covered that. my towels are pilly and my living room smells like pickles. i don't even have any health insurance.

when my mom was my age, i was already born.

what. the. fuck.

i've heard that people give you crap on your birthday so i should probably ask for money to you know, pay off my soul-crushing debts, or buy pretty things like plants, and um, curtains, in order to make my apartment more appealing. but we all know i'm just gonna spend it on those crack-coated apple rings. (exhibit a: number 17.)

instead i have provided a list of some acceptable birthday gifts here. it's the only way i'll make it.

*i no longer work for The Beast, though i am permanently scarred from being in her presence.


Blogger d2ana said...

"i am not married to uncle jessie"

this is the way i dealt with 25:

i figure, it's the final age of "growing up." you can LOOK FORWARD to 25, because:
A. Your car insurance payment goes down
B. You are not allowed to RENT a car until you're 25.

so, 25 is definitely to celebrated. you should rent a car and bang it into your mazda. because now you can. because now both the rental and the fixing-upping will be allowed. :)

happy 25.

Blogger tara said...

The above comment made me giggle. And although I just had my 23rd, all of your statements are true: I moved from friends and out of school and into a job that has NOTHING to do with a French degree.
And I was just thinking that 25 is too soon, and I won't have anything figured out then. Either.
And John Stamos doesn't even know I exist.
So my point is, I commiserate.

Blogger miss kendra said...

i just realized i have referenced two of the three full house fellas in the last two days.

so, in the spirit of things, i heartily endorse bob saget.

i hear he gives head for crack.

Blogger Beeb said...


I heard that too!!

I must admit however, when I see old 'Americas Funniest' shows his lame-ass jokes makes me want to punch him in his eye.

Blogger Cj said...

I don't know why, but I thought you meant Uncle Jesse from the Dukes of Hazzard.

It makes a lot more sense now... :o)

Blogger JenL said...

Oh my god, I'm so glad it wasn't just me. I thought Dukes of Hazzard too and was most confused. If you had said Blackie Parish instead of Uncle Jessie, I would have totally gotten it.

I wonder if this has something to do with the fact that this year I will turn 35 instead of 25.

I clearly need to check out those apple rings.

Blogger Quirkalot said...

I get it. I totally get how you feel. I thought I'd be living life like Sex and the City style, but I'm a teacher now. I feel marm-ish five days a week, and sometimes on Sundays. I got a convertable yesterday though! Don't get too excited; it's a rental until my bruised baby comes back to me in four days. Love you.

Blogger Tel said...

Grrl! I still can't figure out how I got so close to 30 years old. Yeah, I still have 3 years to go, but if it's less than five years, it's pretty short. Oy!

Can one send vodka in the mail? Amazon?

Blogger Racheal said...

Maybe we all make completely ridiculous expectations for each turning-point age.

Like how 12 year olds think being 13 will make them mature.

Or how 15 year olds thinks that turning 16 will mean a car and a studly boy will appear by their sides.

Unfortunately, I can't push the whole expectation (of 16) aside. O, well. I guess I'm just destined to be let down.

Measuring time in cheerio boxs. I like it.

Blogger Dirtytaint said...

My insurance never went down. I am still unmarried and single (hard to believe I know) and I'm working a temp job that I hate next to the author of this blog...

the upside is, Full House was sold to sindication and can be watched along with seinfeld and the simpsons.


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