Double Feature OW: A Mid-20s Rant Sesh

6 09 2012

With Labor Day weekend 2012 in the rearview, the false facade of summer weekends making life better fading into oblivion and kiddies across the land all hoping back on board Ms. Frizzles magic schoolbus, I decided it seems right to drop an OW for our post-college Mime compadres. Adding to this dick-kick time of year, just a week or so ago I got the first unofficial invite to my five year high school reunion. Five year? What high school did you go to? Gay Town High? Sure did, but yeah for some reason my class is jumping the gun and all ‘reuniting’ for the first time after five years instead of ten. CAN’T WAIT. Funnier yet, the mime’s own 5piece got conned into organizing the whole thing. Figured it’d look good on his resume or some shiz. What a squid right? Cut the high school umbilical cord bro! Nah but he’s a good guy.

So I, like zillions of men before me, pretty much don’t want to fucking go. Yet. Maybe the 20 year, when I’m balls deep in my stacks on stacks, but 5 year? I’ve for sure haven’t matured since high school. Like back then it was cute because I was 18, now I’m 23 and it’s just embarrassing for all parties involved. My place is a dump, my job is shitty entry level and my drinking is at an all time high. I mean I thought reunions are mainly for rolling up in a chromed out Enterprise Rent-A-Car with some slampiece on your side  so you can make fun of the nerds and network with the hot shotz. Not the best look when I drive up in my uncle’s Chevy Lumina with my blind rescue dog Howard and get made fun of for forgetting to bring a dessert item to the potluck besides pot, which luckily I have a baggie of in my sock.

Just feels forced to me. I definitely want to see some people, but not most people. And my high school was tiny compared to most. I can’t imagine going to a class reunion of 800 people of which, 750 are kicking your ass in life. “Hey, JD long time no see dude. Meet my large breasted wife Yosephina, she’s Brazilian. We met when I was on business in Dubai trading golden statues with sheiks. How’s your life? Neat. You work at Perkins Financial? Ohh, you’re a server at Perkins. Well that’s cool man. Hey somebody’s gotta do it! Right? Alright, take it easy buddy.” Is how I envision things going down with a few slight exaggerations. OK. Some major exaggerations. I JUST DON’T WANT TO GO, alright? Fuck.

I think it boils down to what chaps my ass the most about being in my (almost) mid-20s. It’s seeing other people get their shit together. Like one by one, people realize they’re actually pretty fucking old and need to make something out of themselves. Barbacking at Randy’s Beer Shack only works for a few years before, fuck it, I’m going to get in shape, join the Green Beret’s and honor the motherland with four tours of Afghanistan. Meanwhile, I look around and realize I’m on a fast track to not amounting to JACK SQUAT. I’m on the ten year plan while everyone else is on the ten month. I spend Sunday piecing together my shitshow weekends while everyone else spends it with their fiancé picking out duvet covers for their new condo. I’m contemplating a 6 month Brazzers trial, while everyone else is contemplating doing six triathlons next month.

But JD, I just graduated college and I’m feeling pretty good about where I’m at, when does this mid-20s depression hit? When you’re older than every college athlete besides Chris Weinke, that’s when. You throw on Sportscenter and realize your ass hasn’t played an organized sport since 94 and it sinks in like a sedative dart. Yet, despite all this unbridled rage, I can’t figure out what’s worse. Seeing professional athletes years younger than me or seeing people I know all getting better jobs than me. On one hand, I don’t know these pro athletes at all, so what the fuck do I care. On the other, I care a hell of a lot because Bryce Harper just hit two dingers in a division series rubber match and his pubes haven’t yet reached full bloom. You’d think the friends killing it thing would tip the scales for sure right? Surprisingly, not as much. Maybe I know a bunch of go-getters, maybe I refuse to accept the defeat, but they all seem pretty miserable too. Well except for Cheeseburger Tony who’s still a sweat-wiper-uper at NBA games. Dude is happy as a clam. He’s also got some serious disabilities. Enough about Cheese monsta, though.

I’ll close this pointless fairytale of a post with a few quick thoughts. Thank god for beer and if you’re rich already you’re doing it super right wrong. Except for Richie Rich. That dude was the coolest. Now somebody pass me that Cousins Subs job application, I’ve got some gambling debts to pay off!



– JD




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