Author: Jenni – Syracuse

I celebrated my first post-college birthday this weekend by ordering a year’s supply of Botox, as well as a classic girdle. I’m 23 now and that’s practically ancient (especially by CollegeCandy standards). So please forgive me if from now on my blogs can’t keep up with youthful lingo and Miley Cyrus references.

Throwing a birthday party in NYC was far more challenging than any birthday party I ever threw at college. At Syracuse you only had to choose between throwing your party at one of four bars. And considering the bars were all frequented by stereotypical groups, it was usually an obvious decision.

But in the city I had to choose between one billion bars. Did I want to go to a pricey club? A dive bar? A 24-hour Chinese buffet? How could I possibly compare the  bouncers-behind-velvet-rope-experience and an endless-supply-of-General-Tso’s-Chicken-experience? I eventually chose a bar-lounge that was described as chill and uptight at the same time. Which was perfect because I was planning on wearing a skin tight dress with converse sneakers.

Not only was the party planning more difficult than ever, but the gift requesting got complicated as well. Last year I asked my parents for a miniature pony and a 100 inch flat screen installed on my ceiling. But this year I had long debates with myself about whether I should be practical (money to buy groceries) or ridiculous (money to buy a live-in maid). I alternated my practical and fantastical requests among the relatives; I’m now the proud owner of a CVS gift certificate and the heart of the ocean featured in Titanic.

However, despite all the hardships of turning 23, I’m happy to be starting a new year. While 22 was full of amazing memories, stealing stories, and walks of shame (refer to my Senioritis blogs), it was also full of unemployment, living with my grandparents, and a general feeling of loneliness (refer to my first 15 Life After College blogs).

This is a new year. I’m a writer living in NYC, blogging about my life. I’m practically Carrie Bradshaw minus the West Village apartment, high salary, designers, sex stories and the ability to start every narrative recap with “Later that day, I got to thinking.”

So while the birthday party planning might have been a little harder, I’m hoping the whole “getting older” will make living  and surviving a whole lot easier.

My ideal Friday night.

Riddle me this. Why did no one warn me that 3-day weekends don’t exist in the real world?

Maybe I was naive and in a college bubble, but I truly had no idea that people worked full days on Friday. Like it still blows me away me when my boss gives me a ten page to-do list on Friday at 4:00. By that time I’m in full weekend mode and already planning my outfit for the night. And by outfit for the night, I mean figuring out which pajamas will be the most comfortable while I drink wine alone in my bed.

I can barely get up the energy to go out on both Friday and Saturday anymore. Hell, I barely have the energy to move myself from my couch to my bed at 10 p.m. on Friday night after Ugly Betty is over. I’ve turned into a pathetic version of myself. A version that I’d be hazing and probably rolling my eyes at if I were my former cooler, drunker, college self. I actually enjoy spending my weekend nights eating cookie dough and watching deleted scenes of The Notebook. I’m one Friday-night-in away from buying matching pajama sets.

But this weekend I had a momentary lapse in judgment and forgot I’m a 40-year-old middle aged mom. I went out Friday night, Saturday night, AND Sunday afternoon. I should have quit while I was ahead. Sunday Funday (as everyone insists on calling it) is anything but fun. It’s a day drinking event that should be left to the pros — college students and David Hasseloff.

Chugging mimosas 1-3 made me feel like a champ. I felt like I was back in my prime and I even debated tattooing Sunday Funday across my forehead. However, after that it was all downhill. I got bloated, hungover, and tired before the sun even went down. It didn’t take me long to go from being a fun postgrad to being an upright corpse. I crawled home, got into my sweats, and watched a quality Lifetime movie.

As I lay in bed, willing my room not to spin, I couldn’t believe it was already Sunday, my weekend was already over and I was too drunk to actually do anything. Like laundry or grocery shopping. Those are the things you think of when the weekend comes in the real world.  Things are bleak out here and I fear I’ll never get used to this life…or such unbearably short weekends. The only thing I have to look forward to now is the day that they invent cookie dough that doesn’t come with the risk of salmonella.