Late Night Snack
As kids, we thought it would be more like a Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen movie but instead we would just sneak candy into our room at like 9pm- fall asleep with gum in our mouths and have to get our hair cut off (tale of caution my friends). We never knew what it was actually like to have a midnight snack and so we naturally romanticized this idea. Now, as latter part 20 something- we have come to the sobering realization that midnight snacks are NOT all they’re cracked up to be. Sure, it might be fun at the time to gorge on a 2am gyro but come back to me in the morning and I can assure you you’ll be whistling a different bloaty tune. Your stomach will be off, you’ll wake up feeling as if a stray cat pissed in your mouth, and your face will be as bloated as Rob Kardashian’s. Yay midnight snacks!
When we were 8 it was cool when your “fun” aunt let you sip on her Margs – feeling like you in da club getting tipsy. So needless to say we all presumed we had years of alcohol-filled joy ahead of us. Then, we all went to college and we did have those alcohol filled joy nights/morning/afternoons. But now we quickly learn that the most joy we’ll ever get from alcohol is getting your $400 Amazon order you forgot you purchased after 3 ish glasses of wine.
I blame Varsity Blues for this one. Not one boy in my high school had the hair, nor the facial structure and piercing blue eyes that Paul Walker had (RIP). High school also didn’t have that same navy, glazed-over look to it. Rather, it involved a lot of C’s, lots of frustration, and horrible Facebook pictures that your one asshole friend likes to bring back to life as she sips gin alone on a Saturday night.
Being an adult
Like living in your own home, and responsible shit like that. GREAT in theory. ALARMING in practice. You figure that by the time you’re 25 you’ll know how to kill a spider or ensnare a mouse, right? WRONG. Instead I call my mom with EVERY things from “I just ate hummus that expired a month ago. Am I going to die?” to ““How do I wash my clothes that say ‘dry clean only’?”
Having a job
I used to play this game with my friends where we pretended to work in an office and would have lunch with our husbands Justin Timberlake and Lance Bass (weird)—the purpose of the “company” was never really stated. We’d get “phone calls” from my dad’s old car phone, “take notes,” and I know all of you did some form of this as well. And it’s weird, because now when I try to hand in similar “notes” to my boss and call it “my work for the day,” I’m told to grow up and am given a warning.
Maybe we romanticized sleepovers as a kid because they truly were romanticized for us. There was always a magically clean extra bed, made just for you; endless snacks; and a feast for you when you woke up. Sleepovers now are not as fun. It’s us who has to do the cleaning now, not the magical and invisible elf who did the cleaning for us back when we were kids. And it’s never not grim waking up to beer down your walls, vomit on your carpet and someone sleeping in your dog’s bed. Also I can’t even imagine when that sleepover isn’t friends but instead a guy who’s name you can’t remember and is now expecting breakfast.
“It’s not enough to meet her, I want to be her,” I distinctly remember saying about Britney. This was obviously during her “Slave 4 U” stage, when she was arguably the fiercest specimen. If there’s one human who’s entire career and mental stability sums up the fraudulence of our media and the twisted trajectory of pop culture, it’s her. My god, nothing says death to our childhoods like rise of Kevin Federline and B Spear’s bald head, and also then learning that her younger sister Jamie Lynn is set to be a teen mom.