We celebrated my friend's birthday this weekend. He's all of 27 now, meaning that soon I'll also be 27 and vaguely described in different terms:
Single. White. Male. Late twenties.
Late twenties? It always sounded so old, so far away. So mature. So absolutely adult.
We would all have it figured out by now. Dining out and having spirited discussion and debate about current events. We would be informed. We would be so sophisticated. Managing or directing or creating or somehow being on top of the world.
But it's funny how things are so much different than that. Here it is now, five years out of college and still sustaining on reheated pasta, awkward interactions with the opposite sex, $1 bottle nights and the occasional all-you-can-drink party at bars we hate. Working a job that just kind of is to go out and do things we just sort of do...in the end, it's like some kind of warped Durdenian prophecy come true.
"You are not your ridiculous bar tab!"
As for my friend's celebration? We ended up at Nick's until 5 a.m. and had some birthday burritos afterwards. The sun was up when I got home.
Sophisticated? No. Mature? Probably not, but definitely a better time than the alternative.
Now if you'll excuse me, my pasta's almost done.