twenty-something

Ally McBeal. Ever seen it? Now that was, at one time, once upon a time, a quality television show. Recently, I caught one of its season finales in reruns, one I caught first run back in 1999. The episode spotlighted the disillusionment of the titular character and the deterioration of her long-held dream of finding the man of her dreams, her soulmate, "The One." Will she ever find him, or will she have to settle for less, like the rest of her world is telling her to do? That question doesn't limit itself to a season finale cliffhanger or a TV show premise -- it's a bigger question, for my own life, if not the lives of every human being on this planet.

Seeing the show transplanted me to 1999, when I saw myself the nineteen-year-old gay male counterpart to Ms. McBeal. In my head, I was young and optimistic in the face of great adversity and disappointment. Hoping, wishing, praying that there's someone out there for you, made for you, and yet knowing, deep down, that it's an unlikelihood. I thought, like all nineteen year olds, that I knew everything.

Now I sit here, a twenty-something, who, like all twenty-somethings, pretends that I don't think I know everything. I sit here and say that I'm lost and directionless, a fool, but still, I look back at 19 and think that I am so much older, so much wiser, so much better due to the passing of just five years.

I didn't know shit then, I don't know shit now.

I write a lot, here and in my "unpublished" works, about life and love, and sometimes I think I'm smart and I get it. But overall, in the pit of the hole that is me, I know I don't. And maybe I never will.

A few nights ago, I had a dream, one in a series of very vivid, memorable dreams that came to me over a few nights. But this particular dream lingered more than the other. None of it will make sense to you, of course, but someone impersonating writer Augusten Burroughs was there, and he was lecturing me on my mistakes. About not having kids or something. I woke up feeling kind of shitty. Augusten was just as much of a dick as he comes off in his new book, and it wasn't really him. But still, the Ally-in-my-soul was affected. Or something.

It's been a long time since I've thought about baby names or a wedding guest list. In fact, in rummaging through old files on my old computer, I found an actual wedding guest list I started when I was 20, maybe 21. It's so silly I just wanted to delete it and never mention it to another person. But there it was, a list of these people that were part of that life with that other guy. There were a lot of people on it, and I didn't immediately recognize at least a dozen names. But there was everybody I knew in my life back then, and I do mean everybody. It was like a desperate person's Friendster or Facebook profile, lots of acquaintances, few real connections. And I wanted all these people to share in the day when I was to become --"Mr. Patrick Kelleher"?

If that wasn't enough to make me want to send a cyborg back in time to shoot my 20yo self in the head, I also found a Word Doc with baby names:
Boys: Riley Andrew, Liam Marcus, Noel Phillip, Noah Benjamin, Ira Allen
Girls: Susan Martha, Serena Anne, Jillian Emily

...How fucking gay.

In-group. It's OK.

*ahem* Well, it was 2001 the last time I changed either file. And it was probably late 2002 the last time I seriously thought about getting hitched or naming babies.

I remember one fall day in '02, strolling along the Waterfront with my friend Dan. I was still pretty shattered by the break up, but I was keeping it in. There was a gay couple, kid in a stroller, and it just triggered me to open up, just a little, to my friend. "I have less than three years to get married," my then-22 self said. "And then I have to have kids by the time I'm thirty. How's that going to happen without Joe?"

Dan, in his gay bitch sort of way, verbally slapped me in the face and back to reality. "Are you kidding me?" he said. And we talked. And I dealt. And, seriously, I think that was the last time I really thought about that whole timeline. Last time I thought, "Hey, I'm gonna get hitched! Hey I'm gonna have babies!" The last time I was a Charlotte.

God, I have changed. I'm still neurotic and needy, just like Ally. But do I still believe in love? Abso-fucking-lutely. I'm just more realistic about it. And much less "Civil Unions and Chinese Baby."

But, God, I do have this thing that pops into my head every once in a while. It's silly, maybe more embarrassing than those lists. Whenever I hear "In My Life" by the Beatles, I picture my wedding reception. And it's not Joe there, I don't know who it is.

I'm such a fucking girl.

I feel a bit lost right now, and I'm not quite sure why.

I think, I mean, I could be generic. I could say, hey, I'm 24. I'm supposed to be lost. I could say, hey, my job is providing me with a new experience this year and keeping me extra busy. Hey, maybe it's feng shu. Hey, maybe it's cause my friends feel farther away that ever. Hey, maybe it's cause I'm still in Vermont. Hey, maybe it's cause my relationship went from awesome this summer to uncertain this fall.

But, hey, it doesn't matter. I got it good and that ain't bad. I need to stop my whining.

Watched the last debate tonight, Bush v. Kerry. Now I remember why I started tuning out politics. I just sat there in awe that the smirking jackass on television was our President. And that Kerry is the best we have to run against him. And the issues seem to be so over-simplified. It's all attacks and show, and won't even lead to a good skit on SNL.

And the Sox lost again.

BLAH.

October 8 marks the first "birthday" of my late night program's start (and the year-and-one-month anniversary in my job). The milestone passes with little fanfare -- I noted it to my staff, and on the program's website -- and I suppose that's the way it should be. I'm just surprised -- I usually make a much bigger deal of things of this nature.

I received a major reward for my work over the past year-and-one-month: a surprise (and hefty) raise, which took me completely off guard this week. It really came out of the blue, but the timing couldn't have been, well, better or worse, depending on which side of my brain you're talking too.

See, I've always sort of said that I love this job -- that it's perfect for me, if only for right now, and I'd be hard pressed to find a position that blended my interests and talents so deliciously -- BUT it was just "for now." The now I never defined, trying to be Mr. Live-in-the-Moment. But as I headed into my second year as a professional staff person at the college I graduated from, I made the command decision to apply to graduate schools for next fall, to job search, to keep my options open and to, mostly likely, leave Vermont sometime next summer.

So after spending a lonely weekend researching graduate schools on the web, I come into work one morning and find that my boss has a nice surprise waiting for me: a nearly $7K raise.

Small potatoes to some, but to me, to this 24-year-old who's still digging staying up late, planning events, and making pretty posters, that $7K will make a big difference in the coming months and, perhaps, a world of difference when it comes time to make the big decisions about my future. I'm sad to say that money could be such a major factor in my future -- but right now, it makes sense to stay, live more comfortably, and try to save. After all, it's hard to find a job like mine -- especially one that pays like mine now does, without a Master's.

I've been stressed a lot lately, by the job I so desperately love. It's been a rough fall -- busy, full of conflicts, colder than I remembered -- but my rewards (the raise, my new Powerbook) make it worth it, in a non-Buddhist sense. Sure, it's going to make my next big decision that much harder, but at least now the option of staying is a bit more feasible, if only for monetary reasons. I'm just glad to be privileged enough to have options right now -- and maybe that's the biggest prize of all.

People have be asking what I'm watching this fall. The answer: not a lot. But a couple new and returning shows have gained my fancy, and I'm sure I'd Tivo them if I had the technology. For now, I try to catch them weekly, but with the exception of the first two, none of them are desperate "appointment television."

I can't believe I am writing about any of this, let alone posting it on the internet.

Here's my current Top Five:

DEAD LIKE ME
I would pay $50 more a month for Shotime just to watch the goodness that is this show. The funniest thing on TV right now. Sad face that the season ends on Halloween. Boo.

DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES
Sure, it's only had one episode, but I'm quite frankly hooked. I'm just so happy that Teri Hatcher has work. I feel bad for Radio Shack, though.

LOST
New show from the "Alias" guy. Of course I'm watching. I like the show, but I'm waiting for it to really grip me. It's good, yeah, but draw me in. Make me care. I think the most engaged I've been with the show is when Matthew Fox was shirtless. I mean, GOD - he is so beautiful.

ONE TREE HILL
I love this show simply because it has no basis in reality. The storylines are so ridiculous and soapy, and yet they present them in the "real" way of such classics as "Dawson's Creek." It's a guilty pleasure - but it is nothing but pleasure. Plus, Gavin DeGraw does the theme.

LATE NIGHT WITH CONAN O'BRIEN
I've been staying up way late very regularly lately (I love that I don't start work until 10AM), so I've been tuning into NBC late night (after Adult Swim) pretty much daily. Conan pretty much rocks my world on a nightly basis, and I can't say that anybody, in TV land or the real world, can claim to do that. Kudos to Mr. O'Brien and his "Walker Texas Ranger" lever.

That's all I got. And, of course, Adult Swim.