Nobody puts baillee in the corner

I was raised on sitcoms. I couldn’t wait for TGIF every week. I still believe Boy Meets World is one of the best shows ever made. Alongside this ABC classic, there was another sitcom I never missed: Friends. Friends created this alternate reality I wanted to be a part of. I wanted to drink coffee at Central Perk. I wanted to hang a frame around the keyhole in my apartment. Most importantly, I wanted to be in my 20s. I envisioned wearing different cute outfits every day with a beautiful, generic, 90s boyfriend on my arm while we threw our heads back laughing over the latest episode of Will and Grace. I had no real concept of money, and I didn’t understand how the characters could be struggling financially. They lived in New York for crying out loud! Speaking of New York, then came Sex in the City, which made your 30s look better than your 20s and proved being a journalist can provide you with enough financial stability to live in a loft and buy Louboutins. Needless to say, I could not wait to grow up and begin my quirky, lavish, and rendezvous-laden adult life.

Now, here I am at 22 (on the precipice of 23), and I have clearly done something wrong. Let’s begin with my current relationship status. In the same fashion of $1 bill, I’m what you would call a single. Most of my nights are spent with the accompaniment of Netflix and grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m no mathematician, but by using the Samantha equation, I should be sleeping with approximately seven different people every single day. However, if we use the Topanga theorem, I should be celebrating my second or third wedding anniversary. Which path am I supposed to take? Having passionate and crazy trysts 49 times a week and working a steady job is exhausting just to type; on the other hand, I can’t even commit to a Facebook cover photo for more than a couple of weeks, so I can’t imagine being married. I feel like the best way to achieve my 20-something sitcom status is to take the Phoebe Buffay approach: date casually or pick a semi-permanent relationship and wear cute maxi dresses.

Speaking of clothes, let’s move on to my financial situation. Carrie Bradshaw worked as a columnist and wore at least two different outfits per episode. Don’t get me wrong, the only difference between my closet and Cher Horowitz’s is the computer system, but a huge chunk of my clothes come from various thrift stores and hand-me-downs. I want to know Rachel Green’s secret. As a server of sorts myself, I want to be able to afford rent and the occasional splurge at Bloomingdale’s (and to know where a Bloomingdale’s is, for that matter). Not to brag, but I feel as though I provide good customer service and make decent tips but not Macy’s tips. What am I doing wrong? Maybe if stopped wearing a bra and used the same AC system of Central Perk in my store I could make more tips during the day. This is clearly the best way to reach the endearingly poor but brand-name clad financial state of a 20-something in a sitcom.

While my relationship status and financial situation do not coincide with young adult sitcoms as they should, I can honestly say my apartment does. My walls are decorated with everything from Taratino movie posters to pictures and movie stubs from over the years. I have a desk area for fun activities such as, I don’t know, recording a podcast and writing a blog? I have the quintessential ridiculous magnets and messages from friends on the fridge. The pièce de résistance is a tie between the white string lights and the dressing mannequin in the corner. It may not be an old firehouse I share with three other guys or a loft in Manhattan, but it does favor Monica’s apartment, down to its organization and tidiness. 33% may not be a passing percentage, but at least it’s a symmetrical number.

I might be in a serious relationship with Hamburger Helper, and I might spend my days at thrift stores, but I get myself into some of the most sitcom-esque situations I’ve ever heard of i.e. the great ear suckling incident of 2014. I do ridiculous things when I drink, like performing “Sweet Transvestite” on Halloween weekend with complete choreography and wake up to throw my hands on my face a la Kevin McAllister upon seeing the video. I blog. However, I do not fit into the traditional archetype of a 20-something sitcom. Then again, I never have been one for convention.

Xoxo
Gossip Girl