Amazing. Nelly is back, kids. It feels like nearly a decade since we so gratefully shook our tailfeathers and now the boy from the 'loo has returned. Man, sometimes
"Now you get to watch her leave out the window; guess that's why they call it window pane."Man, guess you gotta grow up in Detroit to write shit that deep. I bet Marshall didn't have the semicolon in there, though.
I really have nothing to blog about; I only really really really really really really wanted to use that Nelly lyric as a title. I thought about using (every time I go to type the word 'use' or a form thereof, I type 'you' and have to erase it--I wonder what that says about my language centers) that as my facebook status, but that would make me a giant hypocrite and homie don't roll that way. I hate Emo facebook stati (?) and absolutely positively refuse to do it, even in a comical fashion or with the band-aid of a '=]' afterward.
Let's try to give this post a point, shall we? Maybe to differentiate it from the others.
I just booked my 6th California trip (for $195! I had a voucher for the time my flight was canceled.) (I did not pay for it. Still broke.) for late October. Not a day goes by where I don't ask myself (and someone else asks me) why I'm not there. I can give you a million reasons, but none of them are very good. I wonder how many mediocre reasons a person needs to not do something. Part of me wonders if I could just go and not come back. They have a solid public transit system, right?
The world needs more theories. Here is my pea-sized contribution: you know how kids have the "terrible twos"? I propose that that phenomenon repeats itself (only so I can use the cleverly alliterated name) two decades later. The "terrible twenty-twos", the "villainous vingt-deux", the "zoetic (I totally had to look that shit up) zweiundzwanzig". Let me explain: 22 is the postmark date of the pre-midlife crisis. Up until that point, life was like 'The Giver'. While under this sparkly, voluptuous umbrella of naivete, life will always be like 'The Giver'. Here is the designated, default timeline of Plan A:
14: go to high school.
18: go to college.
22: get a real job.
24: get married.
26: pop out a cute kid.
28: (optional) pop out an even cuter kid.
[the previous four steps have all been while simultaneously bettering your career (neglecting smaller, albeit important, life events, like buying a house and/or a car)]
30-65: (35: get divorced.) (40: remarry.) work your ass off.
65+: retire.
70: vacay in Florida.
80(ish): die.
22 is when you realize that NONE OF THIS WILL HAPPEN. At least, not on your handy-dandy schedule. You'll probably get married, have kids, and (if you live in America) you'll probably get divorced. 22 may also be the point when you realize you don't really want it to [happen like that]. Where did being conventional get anyone ever, anyways? However, the alternative (Plan B) schedule is this:
14: go to high school.
18: go to college.
22: (optional) find a job.
23: start paying off loans.
23-80: (30: (optional) marry. 32: (optional) pop out an average-looking kid. 35: (still optional) get a divorce.) work your ass off. Still paying off loans/mortgages/that bet you lost about Dakota Fanning ever becoming hot/ex-wife's/husband's/children's debts.
80(ish): die.
I totally get that this does not apply to everyone. Does my pessimism offend you? (Why are you beset with gloom?/'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells/Pumping in my living room.) If so, get off my blog. And I totally get, now, that I don't want it to apply to me. I don't want to marry the first dude I screwed in college. I don't want to work behind three walls, next to Toby, at a failing paper-supply company (unless Jim is there). I don't want to get a house 7 1/2 blocks from the one I grew up in. Not that any of these things are bad; I just don't necessarily want them for me. Not right now. Maybe later (but I doubt it). At the same time, a life plan would be nice. Does Northwestern Mutual sell those? Can I get the one where I'm an international spy (until I decide to settle down on some oceanside cliff; after that, I'll write my autobiography.) whose most difficult decision is to decide which passport to use on my assignment to threaten the Pope? Obviously, I was picked for this assignment because of my proficiency in Latin. Duh. Gratias ago.
Back to real life:
And maybe some of you came to this conclusion much, much earlier. Maybe some of you never will. Those of you that are living Plan A to the fullest, hats off to you. In my world, you are the minority. I have so many friends that are in such similar situations that I honestly feel like some supernatural force (...grandma?!) is trying to get me to notice something. Or, at least, grant me the solace of knowing that I'm in good company. I blame technology and the Industrial Revolution. More on that later.
Maybe...just maybe there's a secret, awesome, secretly awesome Plan C. MAYBE THAT'S MY MISSION. I am off to find it (I acknowledge that it can't really be 'found'). I will find it whilst simultaneously using my degree to be a waitress. To which my father's response was, "Yeah, you and a million other people, Jackie." Dad, you're awesome, I get it, but shut up. Allow me to live my revelation in peace, damnit.
Let's liven up the mood:
Superhero Pickup Lines
My metal suit isn't the only reason they call me Iron Man.
Ever hook up with a god? Didn't think so.
I'm Batman.
I was going to be finished, but it's my blog and I change my mind:
Only Sold at Wal-Marts in China
Crocodiles.
??
Wal-Mart Brand alcohol. $0.15 equivalent.
Gross.
I don't want to end this blog on a box of ribcages.
Better.
