confessions of a party crasher

listen: that poem from the other day was written by emily dickinson, not yours truly. i simply forgot to credit her. silly.

also: at the request of the indefatigable kony kim, i now officially tag her to respond to the weird chain-mail-forwardy-type post. as i said then, i would tag others of you, but then you won't respond, and i will cry in my sleep.

it has now been officially 2 months since i have been gainfully employed. more than that, even.

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i've always been one to come late to the party.
i didn't sprout a chest hair until after my 18th birthday.
didn't kiss a girl until i was in my 20s. i didn't even WANT to kiss a girl until then.
couldn't drive on my own until well after my seventeenth birthday.
never had a girlfriend until i was 20.
didn't see a lick of porn until i was 19. didn't want to again for a long while.
there are a number of other examples. but i think you get the point.

and somehow, at 23, i'm married, own a home, and am having my quarter-life crisis a little more than a year early.

some guys have all the luck. i just have the heebie-jeebies.