ChocMilk: On being 25.

I have been on this Earth for exactly 25 years, 1 month and 13 days. At this point in my life, I would have made a serious impact on those around me, my career and my  environment, right? Right? Wrong.

Fresh out of high school, with my optimistically pink-hued shades and training bra, the future I had envisioned for myself was like something from a prime time show about a successful 25ish female with spidery eyelashes, high heels and a glamorous air that wreaked of romance and mystery. Truth is, I would have been utterly dismayed with that kind of life, and even though my glamorous airs are purchased and smell like Escada, I’d rather have it this way than another. I may not have a prime-time worthy life right now, but , after careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that knowing what I know now might have made me considerably more boring.

Things I would have never predicted to happen when I was 17, but did.

I can’t watch porn.
Let me just get this out there, I have never watched porn with company, I can’t even watch a sex scene without feeling the need to disguise the fact that my cheeks are getting flushed with embarrassment. So, on the listless Sunday that Nick suggested we watch some (boys, I don’t get it) I was hyperventilating under my rapidly warming cool exterior.

Me: (thinking) “What do I do in this situation? Look sexy? Do I even know what that looks like? I need a mirror. ZOMG that guy looks douchebaggy. Do I really have to watch him do that? There’s no way those could be real”

Me to Nick:  “There’s no way those could be real”

Nick: “He seems to like them”

That summarises the whole 5 minutes I spent watching porn. As is fashionable, women of my age are supposed to be ‘sexually liberated’ and I thought I had crossed that line the moment I bought condoms from a garage at 2am. NO. They don’t show that part in Sex and the City. I feel inadequate. I should watch some porn.

After 25 years, I still know jack-shit about relationships.
Post hight school, I got into a hot and heavy tête-à-tête with a to-be-accountant. He was the alpha to my beta, the present value that would result in favourable time value of money outputs, regardless of the inflation constant. I was with him for 5 years and barely escaped impending nuptials with my sanity intact. I needed to grow up before I decided to have 2.5 children and a joint bank account. But, even after all this drama, I will never be prepared for new love affairs and I’ve decided that I prefer it that way.

I’m too old for this shit.
Rather, I’m ecstatic that I don’t have to do this, ever again:

• Two minute noodles
• Inflatable mattresses
• Justin Beiber
• Loud ‘woooo’ noises
• Glitter anything
• Scrapbooking

It’s okay to say no.

I am not my degree
When I decided on my career choice, I was 17. I liked the Backstreet Boys and belly tops. What does that girl decide to do with her life? Study finance! Obviously. Oh, my misguided youth… I don’t regret my career choice at all, I just wish I had a bit more exposure to the choices available. I am not my degree any more than blogging makes me a successful writer. It’s never too late to re-invent, it’s the whittling down on choices that’s the mind-bending part.

On winning the lottery
As opposed to several years ago, I won’t spendit all on one massive shopping spree. Also, actually buying a lottery ticket is imperative to winning it.

I don’t want to take over the world anymore
I’d have to wear lycra and come up with a name, an evil laugh and group classifications for my army of minions. Actually, I do have all of the above, except for the lycra.

lastly,

Writing about my personal life isn’t as tacky as I thought.
In fact, I’m finding this rather therapeutic

I still feel like I’m a few inches too short to get on the rollercoaster ride, but, at least I wear big-girl bras now!

Everyone is equal but some are more equal than others

Before I rant, I would like to state for the record that I am not a feminist. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hiding a penis under my skirt nor am I a woman that believes that her rightful place is in the kitchen or washing cars in a bikini.

I’d go as far as to say that I HATE feminists. ‘Oh boohoo! I’m belittled in the workplace! But I know what I’ll do to get my point across, I’ll burn my bra!’. Hey, I have an idea, how about you spend less time complaining about how unfair life is and actually do something about it. That ladder isn’t going to get climbed on by itself. Its things like that that works against everything you’re trying to achieve.

When I’m having an off day, I like to spend time in book stores. Sure the internet is a fanciful thing with all them search engines, but nothing beats the smell of inky pages with the occasional strawberry jam stain. I read a lot, at any given moment I could be reading about 4 novels at once. I’d love to say that I can pick up right where I left off but I can’t. I’m not THAT awesome see.

I love the little ‘gift book’ sections for their silly antidotes and nonsensical rambles. I’d never actually bought one of these so I figured I’d look for one to give as a gift to my niece. Cute as a button with curly hair, she eats sand and plays with worms and believes in fairies and watches War of the Worlds avidly. She’s by far one of my favorite people in the world (there are about 12 in total so you know I mean business). 

 This looked, for lack of a better word, perfect. Its great, its big and its glorious. One doesn’t often come  across  a  title so boastful that you are compelled to read it. And I did. I read the crap out of it.

 The contents spanned a whole page, written in fancy letters. You know, the types of lettering only a girl  could appreciate. Here is a selection of the afore mentioned contents-
 - Needlecraft
 - Make up and beauty
 - Home Spa
 - The Great outdoors.

  Yes, ‘the great outdoors’ has its own section. I was particularly intrigued with this one. Here is a list of  things a girl should know when in ‘the great outdoors’:
 - How to fall
 - How to not throw like a girl
 - How to climb trees

Very admirable things every girl should know. Sure she should know how to fall, if she falls in the wrong way, she could get hurt. Sure she should know how not to throw like a girl, even though she is a girl, because throwing like someone other than a girl would make her less cool right? And it is imperative to learn how to climb trees because apparently it would impress the boys. That last sentence was taken from the book.

 So I took a look at this one only to sate my curiosity. I was, literally, standing in the isle with my mouth open. Not the most attractive visual, but I’ve spared my appearance for the sake of this blog. THAT’S HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME.

The contents are written in a no nonsense typeface with a considerably smaller font size. The list covers 1.25 pages AND is presented in two columns. Not only does this one have a schwing title but it also contains more factual information, such as-

- Understanding grammar: I love grammar. Its more important to me than the price of oil. I’ve been      known to stop talking to people if their grammar is anything remotely below my standard. Where are the  corresponding pages in the girls book?
- The Golden Age of Piracy:  I love pirates. I loved them before they became popular again. I wanted to be  a pirate… a pirate with good teeth. I wanted to start that revolution. Arr ye reddy to floss ye scurvey hag?  There aren’t enough girl pirates. 
-  The greatest paper plane in the world: Nuff said
- Girls: There is a whole section for girls. I think this says a lot. From a guys perspective, the matter of girls can be compartmentalized. In the girls book, there are references to boys in almost every section. 

A message to writers of these books, could you try to make the girl version more awesome? Thanks. Until then, I have resolved to buy both. Why should my girl miss out on all the awesomeness just because of the colour of her pretty frock.

Me vs Me (and I don’t win)

The guy with his head on the table is me and the ghost is me too.

Observe:

I’m in a quagmire (which is like a swamp only it could suck you in and kill you).

Once upon a time, I studied this. I was young and naive, I believed that studying that would make me rich one day. I admit, The pay is far from dismal, but I’m not happy, the bank is sucking my soul. See, all I really wanted to do was become this. There is no possible connection between the two. This fact saddens me. I recently discovered that its not so easy to make a career jump. Or it may be the fact that I’m shit scared of failing. Failing is for failures, and I am no failure. I’d sooner take a job in payroll.

I think I should start my own business. I’d make it a revolution in the way we handle our energy. Maybe if I’m successful, I’ll end up being rich one day. Not evil rich like the shareholders of oil companies, but rich in a wholesome way. People would admire me. I might end up being on the cover of Time magazine, looking out of its almost-glossy-but-not-quite pages with a thoughtful expression on my face. I know this expression well. I practice it almost every day in front of the mirror.

All I need to do is connect the dots…