I don't miss you, Michele Cho.

Since I'm merciless when it comes to ladies and their advancing age, I'm surprised that more of you don't take pot shots at me for being an old piece of shit. To be honest, I don't like getting older, mostly because it means that I'm this much closer to dying. But as for the psychological trauma of leaving my twenties behind, I had a recent conversation with Mark that led me to realize that I no longer give a shit. For real. Don't get me wrong, 21 to 29 has felt exceedingly brief. I can't believe that it's been over 10 years that I showed up on campus, or that it's been four years since my girlfriend ran off with an old-ass (uh, I guess he was around my present age) college professor. Time flies. In the end, though, there isn't any phase of my life that I'd rather retreat to, if it meant giving up the life I lead now. High school sucked. I didn't know how much it sucked at the time, but being just north of 100 pounds and a compulsive reader of comic books isn't all that fun. Sure, I got to date the coolest nerd chick in school, but that's akin to driving a brand new Ford Focus, leatherette interior edition. Plus, it was very, very weird. Korean christians (CRAZY, just CRAZY), teenage hormones, and a deeply rooted guilt complex don't mix. So I'd rather not be in high school. College was fun, but I don't miss being an emotional moron, i.e., "I fucking love you, bitch! Why are you doing this to me!? At LEAST let me keep your panties!" Most of law school was a blast because it coincided with the early courtship phase of my long love affair with booze. Back then, I never got hung over. Alcohol actually made my mind whip-smart. Imagine that. My girlfriend was an alcoholic, too. But during law school, I had no money, and that kind of sucks. The final alternative would be my pre-pubescent childhood. This is actually tempting. I didn't have to take care of myself, my parents were infallible, and I knew that they would always protect me. I miss that. But not enough to give up being the master of my domain. Getting drunk is better than cartoons, and being a fancy lawyer is more fulfilling than kicking ass in the fifth grade. I have nothing to fear. When I hit thirty-five, I'll probably being saying shit like, "Wow. Being married and having a brown-ass kid that likes tacos is way better than being a callow, self-satisfied twenty-something!"

P.S. My brown-ass kid will like tacos because Claire is going to have a long-term affair with Pablo, our pool boy. That's an inside joke. Well. Not anymore.