Markers of adulthood have always been very important to me. Stuff like learning to drive, losing my virginity, being able to drink–they all really meant a lot. Now, though, I’ve passed all the ones I care about. The only remaining ones are so lame.
I’m not interested in “maturing” any more than I have. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m getting older, and I’m not going to be one of those pathetic old ladies wearing leopard spandex to concerts or anything. I know better than that. I just don’t have any interest in advancing through any more life stages until I have to. Like, you know, menopause or whatever. At this point, the only remaining symbols of adulthood that I’m pursuing are a full-time job and my own apartment. A mediocre job that simply pays the bills and a dumpy little studio that fits my bed and Bunny’s pen. That’s it.
The next two obvious life stages for people my age are marriage and kids. (I mean, not my age exactly because I’m still too young, but within the next five years or so.) I just don’t get it, though. I don’t get the appeal. It’s not that I necessarily think other people are wrong for wanting to get married and have kids, but I just cannot relate on any level whatsoever.
I guess I’m one of the few women who seriously could not give two shits about marriage at all. I’m not opposed to it, but I’m not striving toward it. It’s possible I’ll get married one day, but I don’t care one way or the other. Being a supergroupie? The absolute most important thing ever. Finding a husband? Meh, whatevs.
Don’t even get me started on kids. I can’t think of anything less appealing than motherhood. Having to stay in on Saturday (or Tuesday or any) nights, not being able to snort my weight in blow, and foregoing hookups with the sexiest rockers in the world is my nightmare. No, I don’t want to wipe slimy boogers off some toddler’s face. See you whenever I get back from tour.
However, here’s the fucked up thing that I want to work on. I judge women way more harshly for having kids than I do men. I definitely wouldn’t want to be friends with a girl who had kids, but I’d have no problem dating a guy with kids. That’s totally sexist, so I need to fix that. New goal.
Anyhow, I’ve been reflecting lately on my time in LA. Even though I never did anything half as awesome there as the absolutely unreal things I’ve done over the past six weeks of being back in Chicago, I had an amazing time and don’t regret a thing. I did lose someone very important to me by moving out there, but I gained new friends and new experiences. If I hadn’t gone to LA, I wouldn’t have gotten so close to Lexa, who is one of my mentors. I wouldn’t have gone swimming in the ocean, tasting saltwater in my mouth and diving under massive waves. I wouldn’t have befriended my little knight in scary armor. I wouldn’t have met, hung out with, and interviewed one of my favorite bands from my high school years. I wouldn’t have been able to show Bunny palm trees and sand. And, above it all, I wouldn’t have achieved one of my major life goals, which was simply living there. I did it. I succeeded.
Now, the next step is to keep the party going. I’m not burning out yet, that’s for sure. Once I get the aforementioned crappy job and apartment, I’ll be on a whole new level. But, to be damn sure, this next phase I’m heading into does not include having a family of my own. I’m way too much of a rebel to even consider it.