I have been going through these weird miniature personal crises ever since I turned 25. An example of the side effects of said crises, I have become so anal at presenting myself "just-so" that I literally just googled "plural of crisis" so that I didn't look like an asshole.
Physically, I don't look really different. My life hasn't undergone some major shift. I haven't been fucking around with the force. But for some reason, my entire being feels stuck inside my body.
And the bad thing is that it is recursive. The more I reflect on my life, the more I feel stifled by my self. The more stifled I feel, the more I reflect on my life to find the source of the choke. Which makes me feel more stifled. And so on. I guess this is the quarter life crisis thing, but it feels so much heavier than that. I have had multiple chances recently to put the value of my life in perspective with the value of the world, and consistently come up feeling like I need to acquire more value, FAST.
I am sure this is totally not making sense.
But that is part of the point. One of the things I stumbled upon was the state of this blog. I originally started it back in the olde days of January 2003 (with the first entry appropriately titled "ass") with the intention of creating an archive of my life. Over time, it has morphed into a bastard child of my relics from internet cool-hunting. This is far away from my original goal. So, my new resolution (is it OK to have resolutions in March?) is to make this blog more novelistic. More like you are talking to me as a person. For those of you that have talked to me in person, you know the difference. Shit just pours from my mouth when I am comfortable with my company. Which is why this blog is great. In my mind, I am my own company and there is no one I feel more comfortable with.
So, back to quarter life crisis. Ugh. Part of the plague that is eating me alive is that my life has followed a relative path of sameness over time. No real big diversions or forks in the road. But my mind works like Sliding Doors. I overanalyze every little possible diversion. What if I had done this? What if I had stopped doing this? Up until I was about 19, I never had reason to do this, because I always took advantage of the things that crossed my path. Should I move away from home when I am a junior in high school by myself and go live on the other side of the country? Sure, why not. Now, my life is all about comfort and complacency. Sameness. The idea of changing one thing doesn't even exist anymore. In order to change one thing, I would have to change a hundred things. Which would change a hundred more. So change really ceases to happen.
Maybe it isn't really about missing opportunities. Maybe it really is about missing youth. I miss being brazen and self-centered. You have to give a fuck about other people as an adult, but you are expected to totally ignore the needs of those around you as a child. I miss the discovery of being a teenager. The firsts. I miss having crushes. I miss having people have crushes on me (and greatly appreciate the random crushing comment). I miss getting worked up about meeting new people. Instead, I just freak out when I meet new people and act like a complete and utter ass. I don't think that I will ever know what it is like to kiss someone new for the first time ever again in my life. I miss the rush of someone I barely know telling me they love me. I fall asleep at night soundly reliving these experiences, because it is the closest I can get. And this makes me feel old.
But, whatever. Like I said, I'm already drunk.
For simplicity purposes, I am gonna make it clear that CP is practically my brother. Except way snottier and usually a pain in the ass. So I can poke fun at him all I want.
CP story #1 - Fucking Rock Stars
I've finished designing the initial looks and splash page for the newest incarnation of his band, Corsaire. You can boost his ego and web stats by checking it out here.
CP story #2 - BMWs, not unlike Porsches
I got a call while I was searching for something to do in Austin on Sunday from my panicked sister. She informed me that CP's car had died, and had I left my car keys at home. I hadn't, but my mom has a spare set. So CP borrowed my car while I was out of town.
On Tuesday, Bean came and picked us up from the airport. I was dreading coming back home for a variety of reasons. All I really wanted to do was go home and lay in my bed. My wonderful, glorious bed. My high-thread count and down filled mattress pad covered bed. With my warm, canine body pillow named Truffle.
About halfway down Belmont, Bean gets a call from CP. He had left the interior light on in my car, and the battery was dead. In any other car, big fucking deal. But this bitch is a BMW, and everything is a big fucking deal when it comes to them. When you put your key in the front doors and unlock them, it unlocks all doors, including the trunk. However, if there is no juice to unlock all the doors from say, the battery, then the other doors no unlocky. So what, right?
The battery is in the trunk.
So why don't you just unlock the trunk manually with the key, or use the trunk popper in the car?
My trunk key thingee is broken, and there is no trunk release in the car.
Radical.
So CP has to call AAA and wait an hour and a half for a driver to come out. When the driver finally arrives, he has no success opening the trunk. However, he is scrappy and knows a trick that works on Porsches. He goes underneath the car and jumps the engine directly, apparently attaching the jumper cables directly to my car's g-spot.
No one is ever using my car again. EVER.
Also, live this St. Patrick's Day knowing that each pint brings you a little bit closer to these fine toofs. Not gross at all.
St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day!
For those not in the know, I am roughly 204% Irish, so today is really my day to shine and barf all over the toilet seat. For example, I walk into the office this morning...
Gregg: "Let's get drunk"
Tonya: "Lauren's already drunk"
Lauren: "I just hooked up the IV at 12:01 last night and passed out. w00t!"
Sarah: "Who left an empty coffee pot? Bad. You die."
Lauren: "It didn't have any Bailey's in it. I didn't know what to do"
This would be less funny if all of these events didn't actually happen.
Also, you are wearing green, correct? I am. You better watch it, cuz I pinch you. I pinch you for real.