We’re Not Kids Anymore

My roommate had one of those moments this past weekend when he realized he could no longer act like a college kid and brush the consequences off.

In college I remember feeling like a super hero.  I had an incredibly demanding schedule, filled with classes, working on tons of movies, and keeping a part time job.  Did this stop me from partying?  That’s just crazy talk.  I was able to party all night, sleep for a few hours, and make it to work on time to open the store.  Invincible.  So naturally, my friends were of the same caliber.

I can remember just two years ago, fresh out of college, this same roommate waking up at 8am after a night of partying to go for a run while the rest of us were nursing our hangovers.  We thought he was a robot, but time has taken its toll.

I woke up Saturday morning at 8:45am to three very specific things:

1.  There most definitely a person walking on our roof above my room and it was slightly terrifying.

2.  There was a very potent aroma of roasted chicken.

3.  I was probably still a little buzzed.

I got up to move to the living room, as I always do when I wake up too early on the weekends and remembered the previous evening immediately.

My night consisted of a few beers with my friend Dan and the baking of holiday cookies.  Then I remembered that both my roommates were home that night and stayed in, deciding to see who could finish a Heineken mini keg.  (Side note: I’m not sure how they thought that wouldn’t end in a terrible debilitating hangover.  Oh.  And they both had been pregaming.)  There was also a promise of a midnight chicken.

The CHICKEN!

Sure enough, I walked into the kitchen and it truly smelled awesome.  The oven was still on (bad sign) and the little guy baking away inside was the most disturbingly mutilated chicken I’ve ever seen.  It was shriveled and just depressing.

Soon after, the other two were up and surveying the chicken sadly.  We were all really excited about that the night before.

And after a failed bike ride attempt, my roommate dejectedly returned to the couch of hangovers, proclaiming the inevitable:  We’re not kids anymore.

Dentists

I’ve never liked dentists.  Ever.  As a kid my mom allowed me to eat fruit snacks and fruit roll ups, which has always been my guilty pleasure, which resulted in a shit ton of cavities as a youngster.  I’m talking baby teeth cavities.  So visiting the dentist was often like that scene in Brazil— torturous.  Moving forward I began to think I just had bad teeth.  As a grown up I still have a good amount of fillings in my mouth, making it rather difficult to eat ice cream most of the time.  Curses!  But I became very neurotic about my mouth.  After going through braces at a young age, I decided if I took stellar care of my teeth then the dentist wouldn’t be a threat.  So I floss every day, brush at least twice a day, and use mouthwash to keep those pesky cavities away.

As a 24 year old living in LA, I get excited about having health insurance in general.  The idea of having dental insurance is not something I’ve given a second thought until a few months ago.  I had never wanted to pay for it because that’s an extra $30 a month!  It wasn’t until I was leaving my old job, that provided benefits, that the accountant told me I could apply for dental coverage and get rid of it at any time.  So I threw down the extra loot and proceeded to do nothing about it, as I was still wallowing in shit storm that was my life at the time.

Come January 1, I will again be paying for dental insurance.  And I realize that it has been probably at least two years since I’ve gotten a cleaning.  I understand how disgusting that sounds.  I think this is one of those moments that defines my further growth into adulthood.  In your early 20’s it’s easy to keep up with the ‘invincible’ feeling you carry around with you as a teen.  As someone who used to be a chain smoker, I was a big fan of thinking my body was god- like in the sense that it could not be defeated by anything.  Now when I buy a pack of cigarettes every once in a while, I feel their weight when I visit the gym and I can honestly say that is why I aim to stop smoking- because it fucks with my cardio.

Part of me yearns to go back to those adventurous days of college where all I did was drink a ton of coffee and chain smoke to get through the days.  Where my first few apartments were the most magical things in the world, and I was able to take on tons of commitments energetically while going on no sleep.  But that’s also part of new phases- nostalgically looking back on the previous ones.

All in all, screw dentists with their pointy metal tools that count your teeth and electric tools that smell like burning.  Am I right?

And there’s always the possibility of ending up like this poor kid…