After a recent softball game I looked up from my margarita and hangover and said: “Wow. We have friends who are married now, have gotten important jobs and moved to cities far away. Where the hell did all the time go? Everyone is growing up.” A friend then looks at me and says: “Yeah. Everyone is growing up…and then there’s…well, you.” At first I took offense to this statement. Then I took a sip of margarita. Then I checked out the rack of the girl a couple tables away. Then I was served a restraining order from the girl whose rack I checked out. Then I contemplated the statement and realized:
I’m happy where I am. I’m 24 years old, single, living in downtown Columbus with a job that I don’t like, but pays the bills and I have weekends off. I’m happy with this.
There’s nothing against people my age and younger being more “grown up” than I am. I have no problem disputing that. I just know that when it comes to various aspects of life that people grow up from…I don’t want/need to leave it.
Marriage is nice. When you find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with I’m sure it’s magical and you know it when you see it. However, right now I know if I got married there are only three scenarios that would play out:
- At the wedding I set the record for fastest “I do” to divorce at two hours when I take a double shot of tequila with every groomsman to celebrate my glorious day and on the way I head to the bathroom, find a woman in a white gown and instantly consummate my marriage in the coatroom. I would be having a great nookie session when…the in-laws come in for their jackets…and see me going to town their Nana…sorry, sorry, sorry…I meant their grandma Nina.
- I’d have a great wedding, but on the honeymoon instead of doing the normal married couple stuff (eating fancy food naked, soaking up the sun naked and always maintaining a BAC of over .1 naked) I’d stay in the hotel room and watch sports all week as I order room service and ignore my wife to the point that when it’s time to go back home she met a nice divorce lawyer on the beach and already liquidated half my bank account to put towards their marriage.
- 18 KIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TAKE THAT CATHOLICS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As for relationships I know right now I’m single, but I’m not against getting in one. The only things that are in my way are my receding hair line; my weight; the fact that my back hair is growing in so much I’ll soon be an endangered species because there aren’t many yetis in the world; my affinity for porn; the fact I like doing what I want whenever I want; my bank account being solely used for bars, beer and Subway; my car Altima Prime; my room looking like an ass grenade got thrown into a thrift store hamper; the fact I’ve reverted to my eighth grade self and are intimated by anything my age with lady parts; my addictions to sports, sports and aforementioned porn; my love of wearing man-thongs, cutting shorts so short the gooch region rips leaving only a kilt left and pulling a Braveheart all night by lifting said kilt and showing everyone my 98% visible nether region; and of course…the last name of Fraker.
As I mentioned earlier I don’t really care for my job. When people ask what I do for a living, I respond “Data entry”, then stare blankly in their eyes until they turn away or vomit from the tension. However it is a job and in this economy I’m glad I have it, which is a form of growing up I guess…having a job so you can afford…um…living? What’s crazy is how my dream job has changed since I wasn’t a “grown up”. As a kid I wanted to be a baseball player sooooooooooooooo bad. I really didn’t want to be anything else. That may not have came to fruition (yet…I can dream, damnit!), but in high school I wanted to be a writer. I even got into Ohio University’s Scripp’s Journalism School (top 10 in the nation.) What did I do with that? Transferred away to Ohio State University so I can be a full-time slacker! Yeah! Now that I’m 24 I have a few dream jobs left: anything in media (writing would be great, but social media, broadcasting, cameraman, nose powderer, Monica Day’s friend with benefits…they all work), photographer for Playboy, beer taster, lingerie judge, condom tester, professional sleeper, chest hair model for hair dressers or being the guinea pig for a 30 year experiment dedicated solely to what objects feel good when dipping your balls in them (come on nacho cheese!). That’s about it.
I can tell you one thing that’s never going to grow up…my sense of humor. If you doubt that at all…reread the second to last sentence of the previous paragraph. I rest my case and have done my duty…haha…duty!
I have grown up a little bit since college I’d say. I can’t stand campus bars anymore. When I go to a bar I’m looking for fast service, a place to sit down, music that’s not too loud and easy bathroom usage. At campus bars you get bartenders who don’t serve anyone unless they’ve cut off a finger, elbow-to-elbow standing room only dance floor, music that’s so loud the sound waves can make a woman two blocks away orgasm and the only way you can use the bathroom is if you can find a cup and corner to pee in or brought your own catheter.
With all of these negatives there’s still one that takes the cake…21 year-olds. I hate them! They’re still excited to be able to legally drink and love to flaunt it by buying 10 shots all at once! They love to party!…only their form of partying includes getting waaaaaaaaaay too drunk, stumbling around the dance floor creepily staring at anything that looks vaguely like a woman, shouting the wrong words to whatever song is playing in your ear, boxing you out at the bar like they’re going for a rebound in basketball, wanting to fight anyone within a 50 foot radius who, according to them “looks gay!” and in general just making everyone else’s night who isn’t blackout drunk a living hell.
Here’s an idea: instead of over 21 bars…the Just 21 bar. It’s training before the real thing happens like wheels and bras. Have all 21 year-olds be required to go to one bar and over 22 year olds get the normal bars now so it’s a better experience for all. The Just 21 year-old bar will feature a giant black room with nothing on the walls for the assholes to rip off and try to steal. There will be a steel grating floor so when they inevitably vomit the four straight Jagerbombs they took clean-up only involves a quick hose down. All cups will be red Solo cups so nothing gets stolen and the only drinks served are Jagerbombs, tequila shots and lukewarm Natty Light. The bar will be staffed by a rotating shift of parents whose 21 year old goes to whatever nearby college Just 21 is in. That way there’s a chance you can make one person stay relatively sober and take care of their friends lest the Bank of Parents get shut down once and for all. As for the bouncers…10 members of the Hells Angels. You start a fight…you’re f*****!. This will be a great learning tool for them and will teach them how to act in a bar.
(P.S. If you didn’t think this is a great idea or laugh at yourself because you know someone who’s like that…you’re the 21 year-old who needs to be in these bars.)
So maybe I’m not “growing up” by society’s standard of growth. But I’m having a blast living my life and I’m perfectly happy with what I’m doing.
Anyone wanna invest in Just 21?
