As I prepare for my senior (but probably not last) year of college and am forced to start thinking about sucky, real life, I have become frighteningly aware of the fact that nothing—not one single aspect of my life—is grown up.
Things that I need to survive each day: caffeine in any form (particularly Dunkin Donuts black coffee and sugar free Red Bulls), the Nitty Gritty Power Hour, my Blackjack, trashy celeb gossip from Perez Hilton and… my Daddy.
Clearly, the loves of my life could be worse. Heroine, crystal meth and men named Spike with foot-long mohawks and naked lady tattoos are all absent from my list, and though I'm a fan of the try-anything-once mentality, even I have boundaries.
Nonetheless, I have come to terms with the fact that transitioning into being an adult—rather than a college student with all the privileges of being grown-up but none of the responsibilities—is going to be extremely difficult for me.
According to my father and other respected elders, the following behaviors are not acceptable once you begin a full-time job and are, according to him, ""worthy of being considered a real adult.""
1) Advocating Facebook as the only means for building social networks and keeping in touch with friends and family—branding all those who are not on the site as socially retarded rejects.
The problem: I probably spend at least five hours a week on FB—however, I consider my adoration for the site to be much less severe than many of my friends.
2) Consulting celebrity gossip websites and magazines for your up-to-the-minute news.
The problem: I didn't know what swine flu was until I read about it on Perez Hilton, where Paris Hilton insisted she couldn't contract it because she was a vegetarian. And I don't see how reading about the credit crunch in OK! is any different than reading about it in the New York Times.
3) Coming to work hung-over three to five days of the week is not acceptable. Throwing up at work the morning after a night of ""too many spirits"" is also not okay.
The problem: I drink. Sometimes a lot. Sometimes too much. Well, frequently too much. I feel as though hangovers should be viewed as souvenirs—free souvenirs—from good nights. I have them a lot. If it's not okay for me to come to work with them, maybe I just shouldn't have a job.
4) Crying when you don't get your way. Actually, any over the top display of emotion is frowned upon, especially high-pitched squeals when greeting friends and excessive giggling.
The big problem: I have broken into hysterics at Subway upon being informed for the third day in a row they were out of Sweet Onion sauce. And there's a strong possibility that I am guilty of running open-armed toward my girl friends screaming, ""Ohmigawdddddd"" if I haven't seen them for an extended period of time (and by that I mean any absence longer than a few hours).
The thing is, I consider my Dad to be a very wise and well educated man so I assume that at least some of this must be true—though I'm holding out hope that Perez Hilton will win a Pulitzer, forever legitimizing his investigative journalism skills and worthiness.
In one year I am supposed to graduate, find a job and start being mature, responsible and respectable. This leaves me with very few options. Since abandoning my childish obsessions is not an option, the only choice I really have is to stay in school for another year or two… or five. Just until I figure out a profession that will encourage and foster my immaturity. Or until Perez is given the credit he's due.
If you have any ides for Jillian's future, she'll gladly accept them at jlevy2@wisc.edu. Really… anything at all is better than what she's got.
