the end of my freshman year(s) of life.

first, let me start of by providing a few definitions.

freshman year(s) of life, noun: of, or referring to, the years preceding college when twenty-somethings are supposed to be acclimated into the "real world," but are still struggling with managing and maintaining their binge drinking, college partying and terrible decision-making tendencies.

real world, noun: pertaining to life after college, or what is perceived to be the life of an "adult" (and I use that term loosely).

rage, verb: the act of extreme, take-it-to-obscene-levels, partying.

adult, noun: who the fuck knows what it means to be an adult.

i hate to admit the aforementioned language has been my prime vocabulary over the last four years. i thought upon entering the real world, i'd turn into an adult magically overnight.

oh, was i mistaken.

my routine since leaving college has been a lather-rinse-repeat of one rage-fest after another, sprinkled with a few new anecdotes:

• the responsibility of upholding a profession - "what do you mean i have to do this every day? i upheld a strict do-not-plan-anything-before-1p.m. policy for the last 4 years, and now you're telling me i have to be in the office for an 8 a.m. meeting? ON A FRIDAY. how am i supposed to go out thursday night? wait... can i at least break for naps?"
• paying bills - "hold on. mom, dad, you're not paying for my rent and utilities anymore? woah, woah, woah. when did this happen? i know i have an income now, but its predominantly to be spent supporting my drinking habits."
• meeting new people - "but. i have friends. and they're AWESOME. who is this scrub trying to shake my hand right now? is she really wearing her hair like that? what is that top? don't even talk to me anymore."

and thus has been my freshman year(s) of life. i'm going to assume most people can get away with one, maybe two, years living their life as such. i'm not quite sure how i managed to survive four years of these shenanigans. but here i am, on the cusp of my twenty-sixth year of life on this earth, in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and i find myself at a crossroad. much like robert frost, although i'd like to think i'm much better looking than he, i too see two paths before me. do i continue down this road of whatever the hell this is that i'm doing? albeit fun, i'm convinced it's slightly masochistic and ultimately self-destructive. or do i try to be an actual adult, and participate in adult-like activities?

i'm not trying to get too philosophical, but let's say, for the sake of argument, i were to wake up on a saturday void of the pounding hangover headache, no crusty make-up lingering from the night before, and without the stiff neck from passing out in what could only be described as some form of a pretzel. is that what happens in real life?

just some food for thought, as i can't help but wonder with my day of birth rounding the corner in a few weeks, what will become of my existence post-freshman year(s) of life.


all i know is it's gotten me to this point. apparently i'm a blogger as an adult. who knew?

but really now... can someone please get me a glass of wine?