Confessions of a Confused Twentysomething: Welcome to Your Twenties

If real life were anything like the movies, I'd have a killer ass and be a successful writer with superfluous amounts of disposable income who's lookin' for love on the streets of LA. 

But that's not real life.

There's no meet cute, there's no moral-of-the-story conclusion to every problem, and nobody walks away from someone then stops and turns back to longingly stare while raindrops fall and cars whizz by to the sound of a softly introduced guitar chord.

The young prince and the fair maiden don't live a fairytale story that builds up to their happily ever after.

Actually, the fair maiden just sits there whining to her friends through painfully long texts about why he hasn't opened her message even though Facebook says he's 'active now'. In real life, the young prince can't even have a proper conversation after watching her drop a full bottle of beer and slurp up soup at a bar. In real life, it gets sweaty and noisy, and someone has to take on the awkward role of putting it back in again when it falls out. 

Real life is hella messy – especially in your twenties.

Normally someone would go "there's an app for that," or the words 'SHAMWOW' would splash across the screen, but not this time. There's no clean-cut solution to your twenties that can be shipped to your doorstep for three easy payments of $89.99.

But why, though?

Why is there no guidebook to this part of life? How come no one actually prepared us for this? Why are the rules and expectations so complicated? How do you make friends in your twenties? Why am I working like a mule and not actually saving any money? What the heck is an entrepreneur and when did everybody become one? Is there anyone who isn't married yet? How does this gas oven work? What's the Pizza Hut hotline?

Life's important questions. 

But our lives would be boring if we scripted them ourselves. The car would never overheat on our way to work. We'd never have our morning coffee interrupted by a not-so-handsome stranger. No one would name the client Khara (shit) on their phone then accidentally send it to them. We would have enough time to shit, shower, and shave – and sheesha, too – without having to compete in the 'who hasn't showered the longest' competition every morning at work. 

It's just not the same without being groped as you bask in the stench of smelly people on the subway, or rushing home only to realize that you forgot to defrost the chicken, you just stepped on a cat carcass, and the building door won't open so you'll have to jump through the window at 3 AM.

Welcome to life in your twenties - a freak shitshow that no one really understands but we're all just trying to figure it out without getting killed (or fat) in the process. 

No better day to start bitching about the perils of adulthood than Valentine's Day, right?


Until next time. 

Disclaimer: Some of these stories are true, some are embellishments of the truth, and others are entirely fictional. Then again, in the mind of a writer, the line between fact and fiction is all but clear – it's just a matter of getting into character. Which are true and which are tales? That's up to your bullshit radar.