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Expressionism – Spring 2013


My life as a 20-something has been just that. The mind of a constant mid-life crisis forces me to act my age. Of course, this mid-life crisis has been happening since 14. Almost a decade living as a 20-something; I started underage at nightclubs, then moved on to underage drinking at the bars. They had even stopped giving us the dastardly X’s that kept minors from the nectar their parents relied on.

We learned far too young that who you know, will always override what you know.

We came every weekend, spent lots of money and brought handfuls of young, gorgeous women each time. As far as that bar in Minneapolis was concerned, they knew us. They knew us well.

Somehow, with a small deal of networking and a barrel full of luck, they gave me a VIP suite for my 19th birthday. We told them I was turning 21 and we had free drinks on the house all night. We obviously took advantage.
The night (from my hazy recollection) would have made even Tucker Max proud. It was the day my being an asshole was most definitely confirmed.

Puking violently on my date for the evening, all the while telling her to “leave me the fuck alone, bitch”, proved that. My friends inciting small-scale riots by falling off tables so hard they broke ribs only added to it. The coup-d-gratis of it all was my horrifically drunk, 19-year-old self, so excited about drinking in public, took a harsh tumble into the heavy metal posts that were being used to facilitate the smoking area.

Police were everywhere. Though I had recently been placed on probation, I didn’t give a shit. Friends had to carry my horizontally walking self out of the club and back to the car. The club never even kicked any of us out.

Smashed glasses, vomit stained shirts, after-hours White Castle sliders, dancing so hard you actually broke bones, misogynistic slurs, bare nipples, cheap but stiff vodka drinks, dodged DUI’s, late night bus trips, getting loose while trying to avoid date rape, MDMA controlled dancing, pole grinding, sweating into sickness, sharing putrid public stalls with friends, making sure someone was sober enough to get everyone home-that was my life as a 20-something.

I quickly turned into a 30-something shortly after that time. It came and went. Some say those are the best years of their lives. Hopefully that’s not true for everyone.

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