Since turning 25 a few months ago, I’ve been in what some may call a “quarter-life crisis.” I’ve read list after list on the internet about things I’m all of a sudden too old to do, and I gotta say, it’s been getting to me. I’m tired of feeling like a retiree while still worrying about when my parents are going to cut me off their phone plan, and I’ve decided to make an attitude adjustment. While everyone my age channels their inner Roger Murtaugh and complains about shit they’re too old for, I’m making a list of things I’m still too young to do.
Actually staying in on Friday nights.
Every Monday, I say that I’m taking Friday off. I make an oath to myself. I swear on my mother’s life. I tell all of my friends, just so they don’t give me shit when the weekend rolls around. And they don’t, because they know I’m lying to myself. By midday Friday, I’m the first person firing off a “What’s the plan tonight?” text into the group chat, just like every week.
Going to a child’s birthday party.
Sorry, but no. I love my friends, and I enjoy spending one-on-one time with little kids, but the idea of standing in backyard having to “drink responsibly” (or whatever it’s called), while 20 screaming brats run around me sounds like a nightmare. One of them is going to accidentally head butt me in the balls, causing me to spill my beer on him, and then somehow I’m going to get blamed for that debacle. Pass.
Consoling my friend through a divorce.
Thankfully, all my friends are as afraid of growing up as I am, so this shouldn’t be an issue for a while. My first friend just got married last year, and as far as I can tell, there’s no runner-up approaching. I’m not great with feelings, and if the problem can’t be solved with alcohol and strippers, I’m not going to be able to fix it.
Changing my sheets at an adult rate.
Confession time: I change my sheets, at best, once a month. This is due to a combination of me only having one pair of sheets and outright laziness. I’m currently sitting on sheets that are stained with drool and what I believe is Kung Pao sauce, and I’m probably going to wait until the weekend to do laundry.
This is directed mainly at my doctor, who has suggested a prostate exam for every illness I’ve come to him within the last year. Dr. Rothman… John, may I call you John? I don’t want a prostate exam. I don’t need a prostate exam. Even if I did need a prostate exam, I will not be getting one. If that means I die, then so be it. I want my tombstone to read, “Here lies Nick Arcadia, who passed away with his anal virginity intact.”
Getting to the movies way too early.
Budgeting way too much time to see a movie is a sure sign of getting old. To qualify for a senior citizen discount you should either have to show your ID, or answer “two hours before it starts” when asked when you should arrive at a movie theater. This also includes anything to do with air travel. When I was ten, my dad had us leave the house at 4:30 in the morning to make a flight that left at 11:30 a.m. We lived 20 minutes from the airport. I swore at that moment I would never turn into him. Have I missed some flights? Yes, but that’s not the point.
Changing a diaper.
I really don’t know how or why this situation would arise, but I would like to preemptively say, not a chance. I lived in a frat house for four years in college and I’ve reached my limit on cleaning up after people pissing themselves. I wouldn’t even want to change my own hypothetical kid, but that’s a losing fight I’ll be having with my future wife.
Complaining that a bar is too loud.
When I go out, I want it to be as high-energy as possible. Girls dancing on tables? I’m into it. Fights? I won’t start them, but I’m more than willing to jump in. Having screaming conversations with my friends because the bass is vibrating the whole room? Yes. I’m too young to sit at a booth and just talk with my friends. That’s what the pregame is for.
People who say no to shots aren’t people I want to associate with. I know they don’t taste good, and I know they get you too fucked up, but you gotta live a little. When I start refusing well tequila shots at 2 a.m., you can start researching nursing homes for me to live in.
Booking a nice hotel.
I just don’t see the appeal in spending more money on a four-star hotel. When I go on vacation, I’m not spending any time in the room. I’ll spend money on experiences and I’ll spend money on the flight to go to exotic places, and to finance that, I’ll spend the bare minimum on lodging. All I need is a bed to sleep on at night. Everything else is just luxury.
The slow lane.
Eat my dust, everyone over 30. I have no kids in the car and if I want to rip it down the left lane doing 90, I sure as hell will. Granted, my 2000 Toyota Camry rattles like a fucking space ship taking off when I go over 72MPH, but it’s the thought that counts.
My lunch today was leftover Chinese food and three homemade quesadillas. It was probably 2,000 calories of sweet and sour sauce and melted cheese, and I have no desire to do any sort of cardio after it. My metabolism still thinks I’m 16, and I hope it stays confused forever.
I may have been called a “man-child” by three of my last four exes, but that’s just what jealousy sounds like. I’m never going to grow up. .