Me: the definition of a “20-something”

I’m okay with it – truly – but had you asked me at 15, I would have dug myself a hole to Bora Bora and never looked back. Growing up, the thought of being a twenty-something gave me full body chills and could keep me from school for a week (minimum). I had true Peter-Pan-syndrome and I was convinced if I tried hard enough that I could reverse the aging process. If I had to pinpoint the change in that mindset it would probably be college (changed a lot of things for me). It was in college that I got extremely close with my older cousin, Caitlin (commonly referred to as KT on my blog). She is roughly 4 years older than me and about 50 years cooler than me. Once her and I became seester-cousins, I started realizing that you can still be cool post college. My visions of lame twenty-somethings washed away with every bottle of Absolut she bought me. Flash-forward to today and I had a conversation that looked like the below:

Nic: “the lender I might meet today was a VT quarterback”

Bella: “slip him my number please and thanks”

Nic: *sends picture of said VT quarterback*

Fi: “OMFG he’s not terrible”

Nic: “he played semi-pro too, not NFL tho”

Bella: “hmm I’m not really into the semi-pro life but”

Nic: “he is 31 and doesn’t play anymore”

Bella: “he probably has a wang dang the size of my forearm”

Nic: “well he is 6’4″!!!”

Bella: “well let me know if he casually brings up wanting to financially support a 20-something”

I then realized how much of a fuck-boy I was and how being twenty-something is an effing privilege. You heard it here first y’all, your twenties are a time to be celebrating your fuck-boy tendencies* not running from them. So while I don’t actually NEED to be financially supported – that doesn’t necessarily mean I would turn down a sexual human buying me drinks (who needs dinner these days), clothes, trips, and everything else under the sun. I’m a fully functioning adult. This isn’t about the money. It’s the concept. Let’s not get too crazy over here, it’s not like I’m asking said person to pay my rent or cellphone bill. We are talking about the non-necessities I am constantly adding to a shopping cart and then shedding tears when they disappear after a few days of never checking out.

giasaasahy

*speaking of fuck-boy tendencies, I realized last night while watching ~The Hannah Montana Movie~ that I am very attracted to the 17-year-old playing Travis** and the weak and impressionable is my MO – maybe my new rule of three years older should be edited to three years younger??? Fuck-boy thoughts, for sure.

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** BE HONEST, CAN YOU BLAME ME? Jesus Christ. The worst part is, he got uglier as he got older. Not sure what circumstances would lead to that tragedy but bless his heart.

Now one might ask (including myself) where I am going with this – admittedly I don’t have much of a point other than I am going to start indulging myself in the perks of being a twenty-something. When I broke up with Ryan, I promised myself I wouldn’t date someone who wasn’t at least 3 years older than me (25-26). Since then, I’ve realized even the 25-26 year olds I know (other than KT) are as far away from settling into their lives as I currently am. So, rather than fight the never-ending battle of aging, I’m going to stare it down like the badass savage I am. My new and improved mindset will be accompanying me to MGM this evening and I plan on going buckwild. Watch out, suckers, I need someone else’s money to gamble.

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Recognizing perks of being a 20-something has been interesting. In my eyes, you’re too old to be doing laundry at your parents house but you’re also too young to expect a washer and dryer in your house. It’s a weird time, lemme tell ya. As I’ve mentioned before, Google is a trusted friend of mine. In an effort to establish “rules” and lines to not cross (or at least use as a threshold), I’ve found myself disagreeing with pretty much every article out there that touches on the “perks of being a 20-something.” Mostly because I don’t plan on waving around my body like a degenerate and chalking up nights of mistakes with “well, I’m twenty.” This is where I am struggling to accept how I will ultimately define my twenties. Hence making rules. I’ve always been a rule-follower.

While I’ve managed to completely explode the world as I previously knew it, I have started to realize it was because I felt as though I hadn’t quite gotten my “20s” out of my system. Understandably because I spent the first two years of my twenties in a committed relationship. Good new is, I know I’m capable of settling down and enjoying the company of another human. If you know me, you know that was a surprising revelation. Bad news is, not right fucking now. I’ve found myself reverting back to old-Bella as far as feelings and flings – which according to my best friend is the opposite of what I need right now. While she is much more insightful than I am, I don’t like listening to people – even when I know they are right. The best part is… mistake has always been my middle name. I am too much in my head and I acknowledge that. So, in the effort of accepting fuck-boy tendencies, I am parting ways with my logic and emotion. Looking back, I was always a half-fuck-boy so really I’m just going back to my roots. High school? WOOF. I should probably apologize to all the gentleman I used as pawns in my game of life. College? YIKES. For the most part though, I’ve made peace with my college mistakes. With the exception of one individual I am happily never speaking to again, I feel pretty good about college. Post-college? Not sure yet. We will see if my ex ever figures out a way to talk to me that isn’t either:

  1.  Aggressively angry
  2. Unhinged
  3. Devastated
  4. In complete denial

Quite frankly, I’ve broken up with a lot of people but never once have I had to deal with every. single. emotion. at. once. If anything, this experience has distanced me so far from feelings that I’m turning into Lord D himself.

giYUPhy

P.S. fuck-boy tendencies is just the millennial way of me saying I’m being selfish with how I live my life. I’m not sure what perceptions of “fuck-boy” live on the internet these days so figure a disclaimer must be necessary.

xoxo,

b

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