If my quarter-life crisis is any indication of what my midlife crisis will be like, I’m going to be burning the candle at both ends, abusing my liver, overdosing on Viagra, and nailing Hooters waitresses until my family intervenes and I finally get married at age 44.
My quarter life crisis has been a constant battle between deciding whether or not to continue my potentially syphilitic brand of college debauchery, or find a wife because my grandma is trying to guilt trip me into great grandchildren. I’d imagine it’s entertaining to watch from the outside, because the variety of women that catch your eye range from wife material to back-to-the-drawing-board embarrassingly casual trysts who will never meet your mother. If you’re not sure if you have full blown quarter life, here are a some signs to look for.
1. You get Snapchats from girls still in college.
You met her over the summer and started porking her like Dirk Diggler on a testosterone rush. She’s several years younger than you, still experimenting, and her boundaries are as cloudy as her relationship with her father. She’s not even camera shy. After three glorious months, she heads back to school and blesses you with a daily Snapchat documentary of sorority rush. You haven’t acknowledged sorority rush in years, and you’re closer to 30 than you are 20. Seek help.
2. You only get drunk texts.
You met her at a Young Whatevers group and thought you two may have a lot in common because you’re both young professionals, but what really drew you to her was that she definitely likes to party. Postgrad life has been boring, and she seems like a nice remedy for that. You have a relatively high opinion of yourself, but this girl, probably going through her quarter-life crisis as well, only finds you appealing when she’s drunker than Lindsay Lohan after a meeting with her parole officer. You never hear from her during the day, only at 10pm when she gives you a play-by-play of how drunk she is. She disappears around 11pm, only to resurface right before last call to invite you to meet up. For some odd reason you don’t delete her number.
3. She disappears after the first date.
You matched up on the latest dating app that your still-in-grad-school friends referred you to, and you hesitatingly agree to meet up. She asks you to pick her up, and you guys hit it off like Bonnie and Clyde. Several hours and $100 later, you drop her off. For the first time since graduation, you’re optimistic about your dating future. You’re growing up and going on dates with women your age wanting to move forward with their lives. Until you text her for a second date and she never responds.
4. Enter the cougar. Literally.
Getting sick and tired of the immaturity of women your age, you think maybe the way to grow up is to be a cabana boy for a 45-year-old woman. It doesn’t make sense, but hey, it’s your quarter-life crisis. You’re drunk 75% of your off hours and 25 % of your work hours. Most real life cougars don’t look like Stifler’s mom, though. If they were 20 years younger, they’d barely be slump-busters, but since they are in their 40s they get a pass, because your mommy issues have been amplified as of late. It’s not my fault she wishes she was her daughter. Anyway, you head to the local cougar bar, and before you know it, they’re on the prowl. You end up drunkenly hooking up in your car and start sobbing in shame. She was your high school English teacher, for fuck’s sake.
5. You start looking up all your old hookups.
The lowest of the low. You’ve run out of options. You’ve been “seeing” college or postgrad-freshmen women too young to understand the meaning of “I have to fucking work tomorrow morning.” You were chased out of a cougar’s house by a shotgun-wielding husband. You’ve given up on dropping money you don’t have by dating women your age. It’s time to go back and rekindle what a was comfortable, casual, drama-free humpfest with one of your former college hookups. Facebook is a good start. Half a handle of bourbon later you have 8 chat windows open and no replies. Why? Because they either fucking hate you for not calling them since your last all nighter, or they’re married now. Mea culpa. Even the girl from freshman year who gave you the afternoon delight every day won’t respond. Back to the drawing board.