As I look out my window, all I can see is graduation approaching. And maybe the off-white dregs of the gargantuam blizzard that hit on Friday. And yes, my street remains unplowed. But I digress.
Graduation. Leaving this student house, these student classes, this student food behind and finally becoming… a 20-something. Though I have been twenty for almost three whole years now, my real initiation into “my twenties” (this nebulous yet wholly defined era) apparently has yet to begin.
I don’t live in Brooklyn (come on, can you really be a 20-something if you are living somewhere else? Oakland, maybe.) I haven’t carted all my clothes home in a garbage bag (though I have used laundry bags before, which I think makes a tad bit more sense. But then again, I’m not yet a 20-something, so my logic may be askew.) I have yet to go to extravagantly violent loft parties, wear unflattering collared shirts to work, be potentially hit on by a skeevy boss, desperately send writing samples to volunteer magazines, be terribly selfish to my supposed friends, bump into famous but creepily short contemporary artists…
All in all, my life has yet to begin. Or so says, well, everyone. (Hint hint: the comparison of post-college-life to the supposed “real world” doesn’t help matters much. I feel pretty real at the moment, thank you very much.)
But again, I digress. The entire point of this pontific post was to bring your attention to this: a movie collage of what the future holds for me (and you and you and you too). What Its Like To Be A 20-Something As Told By Mean Girls, Bridesmaids, and Girls. Boys need not apply. Unfortunately, their genital status and lack of foolish behavior seems to deprive them of this age classification. Somehow, guys will always just be in their twenties.
