Birthday Fantasy

31 10 2012

whitney-butler-funny-blogI can’t believe this.

I’m in a public gym on a Stairmaster having an erotic fantasy.  What is going on with me? It’s a few days before my birthday, I’m about to turn 26 and I’m projecting a steamy shower scene from an endless staircase.


Am I the only 25-year-old kind-of freaking out about being 26?

Trust me, this isn’t melancholy over passing the proverbial threshold of the early 20’s. It’s not about how making out with a stranger in-da’-club no longer satisfies my abnormally chauvinistic sexual prowess. Nor is this about the youthful excuses that are slowly becoming socially non-applicable:

“Yeah… sorry about the house. I was really drunk. Tell you’re parents I said my-bad.”

“Sorry Jason, I’ve just never done this before. I don’t think I’m ready.”

Nope, that’s certainly not going to work anymore.

This isn’t even about the fact that shopping at Forever 21 now makes me feel more self-aware of my eminent super-morbid obesity.

Actually, I have no idea what this is about, because right now, I’m having an erotic fantasy at the gym about someone a barely know. What was I talking about?

At 26, I guess I was expecting more. I was expecting to be further along and not having to shovel dirt into an empty hole of promise made to an entire generation of 20-somethings, all trying to figure it out during some particularly serious national bullshit.

It’s a big scary world out there people and I don’t mean to sound dark, but the bottom line is this: being 26… kind-of sucks, and not because of the aforementioned inequalities between myself and those still on the underbelly of adulthood, clinging to their aspirations like baby monkeys.

Twenty-six sucks because those aspirations are entirely possible and I’m the only thing standing in the way of realizing them. But resources have become increasingly more limited across every plane of personal growth and prosperity this beautiful country has to offer.

“But Whitney, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Shut-up Grandma!

When you were 26 you had a husband, kids, a house and social security. Your man enjoyed real wage increases and the Federal Reserve wasn’t ruining everyone’s life savings. I work 60-hours a week on a 10-99 contract for God’s sake. Where’s my benefit? Oh that’s right, I can have an abortion.

So excuse me for my lack of celebration. I’m too busy being an emotionally introspective writer-type who occasionally has amazing fantasies at the gym.

However, I promised myself to be progressive about this birthday; to stand bold and take command these feelings that may just be disillusioned anxieties creeping up my backside like icky black spiders. The spiders are just hyperbole, but the feelings are real – however disenchanted they may be.

But instead of letting those feelings thwart my birthday promise, I’ll be busy looking at the bright side of gaining invaluable life experience, priceless seconds of unadulterated joy and the company of people I am truly honored to share this journey with. I’m very excited about getting older. I’m not too impressed with 26, but equally as excited about 30, as I appear to be in this fantasy. So I’ll just shut-up and keep climbing.

Find out what I was doing last year when I turned 25!

An angry love letter! 

Why is this dog so racist? 




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