I’m of the generation that everyone before me hates, myself included – but only in dating situations, or trying to make plans with friends. Most people think we’re entitled, lazy and much too self absorbed and narcissistic. I won’t deny that last one. – See attached gallery containing dozens of photos of yours truly. I won’t speak for everyone my age, mostly because I refuse to use the wrong version of “their” or use numbers instead of letters to write “to” or “for.” But I can speak for myself when I say we just can’t get it right. If we over-achieve, and stop at nothing to succeed, we’re assholes with borderline sociopathic tendencies and if we move back home after trying our luck at whatever job we can get after a pointless degree in communications, or something similarly stupid, we’re lazy failures.
I get to experience the best of both of those worlds in the span of a month. As long as I can remember, I wanted a “fancy” job. Even before I really knew the value of money, I wanted to be the one at the party with the coolest, most interesting job, even if it didn’t pay the most. For a while, I was the cool kid at the party… until I decided I didn’t care about any of it anymore. I actually avoided asking people what they did for a living just because I didn’t want them to ask me. I was embarrassed to tell people what I did for a living. The career I spent half my life preparing for and chasing had become as taboo a topic as politics or religion on a first date. Which brings us to today, where I write to you while sitting on my parent’s couch because I’m renting my apartment out to earn extra money for my trip before I move out and flee the country.
Last month, as far as anyone knew, I was the asshole, overachieving sociopath and now I’ve transitioned seamlessly into the lazy failure staying with my parents. I’ve received a lot of comments about my last blog and there has been some talk about burning bridges and concern about my comments affecting my ability to get another job. Here’s the thing… I don’t want another job. I already wasted over a decade pounding the pavement and fighting tooth and nail and all of the other applicable clichés to get the job I wouldn’t take back if the alternative was being Lindsay Lohan’s sober companion. If I run out of money before my year of traveling is up I’ll marry a Duke or a Count or go the sex tape route. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up so I’m not counting out “kept woman” or adult entertainment.