Last night I did something I swore I’d never do again. In fact, I did a couple things I swore years ago that I’d never do again. And I kinda liked it.
It got me thinking. I could fall into the 30-something chick cliché of freaking out, going on the proposed man-hunt to parlay into the dreaded am-I-planning-to-procreate-or-not countdown to 40, all the while contemplating Botox and going on more intolerable dates with dudes I’m not really attracted to just so I won’t end up a lonely 43-year-old in a fifth-floor walk-up studio…That would just be sad.
Let’s face it. It’s still a man’s world and buying into that bullshit is like sitting down at the poker table saddled with twos and threes. You’re behind anyway, and there’s no way you’re gonna win that game—no matter how thin, attractive and awesome you are.
Then it hit me. There’s a book on my desk about the Mayan calendar and the world ending in 2012. Living in New York and quitting smoking, I’ve always considered that my last thought in a terrorist attack would be, “Why in the fuck did I quit smoking? I could’ve been smoking away, enjoying sweet, sweet nicotine this entire while?” Well, what if we all die in 2012? Am I really gonna spend the, admittedly possible, last two years of my life worrying about shit like this?
So instead of trying to work on my so-called career, build a nice little family, or save for a condo, I’m just going to do exactly what I want when I want—things stupid, meaningless and fun. As long as I can fuck 20-somethings and 40-somethings, go out all night and not feel like total shit the next day, bike through crazy mountains high, eat an entire bag of Doritos in one sitting, I’ll take adventure over the future.
Now the adventures will vary…Stuff I’ve always wanted to do. Stuff I’ve never wanted to do, but am putting in that “try it, you might like it” category. Stuff that just pops up randomly. And stuff that I get dared to do…by you, gentle reader.
Because 2012, if the crazies are right, is just two years away.