Outcast

I used to think that at some point, in college, I was a social person, and that as I grew older I became jaded about the world and that’s when I turned into a crotchety old woman who preferred needlepoint to house parties and has a strong difference to loud noises. But I think when I was in college, I was just drunk. Like. All the time. And when your constantly under the influence of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and outside chain smoking Camel No.9’s, your just numbing your inner self. Trying to force yourself to be in a situation to which you feel at your core, uncomfortable.

I didn’t meet the love of my life, make long-lasting friends, or even long-lasting memories at these parties I used to go to. I just stumbled around trying to represent a cool-looking person. I played beer pong, even though I hate beer, and always have. I took shots, and then proceeded to puke in my mouth, or sometimes on the floor, and even sometimes on my friends shoes. (Sorry Ashley). All the while I was convincing myself that this was what was supposed to be the time of my life. This is what everyone else was doing, so this is what I have to do. I peed outsite. A lot, you guys. Stumbling home, with my fake leather jacket and my knock-off Chanel bag. Then I would wake up looking like the crypt keeper, and order Dominos even though I knew, even though I didn’t want to accept it at the time, that gluten, and Dominos specifically, made me very, very ill.

The truth is, I was NEVER a “cool”, social person. My best memories involve 1-5 people, not 50. I like to make flower patterns out of yarn for fuck’s sake, not drink gin out of plastic cups. And let’s just get it out of the way. Gin tastes like PINE NEEDLES YOU GUYS. I don’t want to go to Vegas, or strip clubs, or even the bar down the street if it is a Friday and I know it’s going to be busier than normal. I just want to watch The Office for the 10th time and pet animals. I would rather feed a goat tiny goat pellets than listen to some guy hash out his past relationship while waiting in a bathroom line.

And I like SLEEP. You guys. Like, a lot of it. I would rather fuse my skin into my flannel long-johns and get a solid 10 hours in, than stay up until 2 a.m. waiting for an Uber and the delivery guy.

I think you catch my drift by now, but it’s just nice to be at the point in my life where I don’t have to feel bad about being authentic to myself. I don’t have to feel ashamed if I want to leave early so I can read a chapter of a self-help book before I go to bed, or if I don’t want to go at all because I want to watch The Breakfast Club for the 78th time and avoid underwire.

The point is, once you stop doing what you feel like you SHOULD do, and start doing what you really, deep down, want to do, it’s such a relief. And the people who get it, will get it. And the people who don’t will call you a flake, and anti-social, and whatever other things mean kids come up with these days, but that doesn’t mean you would have more fun if you were joining them. You’ll have the most fun doing whatever the fuck is fun for you. If that’s vomiting all over your friends and doing hard drugs than great! Do it up. But if that’s listening to NPR and petting barnyard animals than that’s okay too. You’re cool in my book.

XOXO,

Milky