The stunning achievement of my 26th year is that a month prior I purchased a brand new computer. Thus, the blog I started FIVE MONTHS AGO, will now be more frequently updated. I also have to do that thing where I give other people the link… I guess.
So for the last 5 days I’ve been 26, bitches. The majority of my extended family completely ignored my birthday, as did a couple of my closest friends… for probably the first time ever. Which quickly prompted me to launch into an existential homesick meltdown. I’m slightly embarrassed by it now, but at the end of the day its always good to have a good cry at the realization that you may be always thinking of you, but not many others are.
So how much has changed in the 5 months since I last decided to blow air up my own ass and think that my life’s uncertainty or my willy-nilly move across the country would be interesting to anyone?
Not much.
I’m single. I live in a converted living room. I’m tending bar for drunken yupsters (baby yuppies, who still haven’t given up on trying to be “hip”). I can hear mice in my walls and my neighbors having sex. Sometimes I drink too much. Sometimes I purposefully do the wrong thing. And I’m still just trying to have a great time.
But things are on the up and up I think… 26 might be the year where I actually start to feel older than 12… I’ve applied to some volunteer programs, I’ve started studying for grad school admission tests, I’m a member of a gym and I actually ATTEND, and I’m in a nasty divorce with Jameson. The dick.
So here’s my snapshot:
I’ve just ignored a phone call from a cute little Irish man, who texted me about 5 hours ago to hang out. I knew the text was coming since my coworker told me he was in the bar. He drinks, then he texts. Mostly without fail. I replied to the text, “I got some plans! Can’t! Have fun tho”. The call is a new twist… and I’m not even sure I could understand him on the phone. I’m not even sure I understand him in person… but communication isn’t really the goal. I’ve had a little wine tonight, which I could easily parlay into a lot of wine tonight, so I might have answered the phone. But I didn’t. I was far more interested in sorting my sock and underwear drawer. Literally. And watching the Ringer. And drinking Barefoot Pino Grigio (aka baby juice). It barely makes sense to me, because in my face was dangled free drinks and casual sex with a good looking Irish man who actually has a decent sized penis and can get a hard on when he’s drunk (UNICORN!).
But herein lies the problem; occurring for the first time in my 26th year… he’s not the person I had wanted to have my way with tonight. The person I had wanted to see has a paper due in the morning. He texted me all day about the mundane things we were both doing, but didn’t respond to my subtle (or not so subtle) hints at being available for a nighttime boogie. And I was holding out on the slim chance that my law student would finish his paper at a reasonable hour and give the green light. Shoot me that booty call text. And I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking, which is, “YOU, ask HIM… you’re Mega, you don’t wait for the phone to ring”. Which I would, if the last time I suggested a hang out on a specific day he didn’t say “we’ll see, we have plenty of time”. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? So I guess we’ll just keep talking about our respective days. Fully clothed. Via text…
I’ve got a potato. And I’ve got an avocado. They are both quite creamy, but entirely different in texture. And neither is satisfying unless accompanied by some motherfucking protein.
And they are the least of my worries. Or at least they should be…
I made some homemade veggie soup. I did my laundry. I sorted my underthings. And maybe tomorrow will make more sense.
Welp…Mega, Over and Out.
Ps. I love analogies.
Pps. And postscript.
