Life After College: Birthdays in the Real World

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 theĀ  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 livingĀ  and surviving a whole lot easier.

We Hate You, Punxsatawney Phil (and Others)
We Hate You, Punxsatawney Phil (and Others)
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