DELAYED RITES OF PASSAGE

I am convinced I came to the U.S. at the worst possible time in someone’s life. As a young adult who is leaving the teens and who had no time whatsoever to misbehave before that. I found myself at twenty-four with a complete lack of knowledge on anything worth knowing and with no experiences whatsoever under my belt. I had come to the U.S. and had been thrown into the hectic day to day life and struggle for rent money and grocery money and before I had time to blink I was an adult with tons and tons of things I missed and didn’t get to do.

While my peers were living a normal life back home I was here struggling with my Spanish because I was starting to forget some words and having to turn words in English into Spanish like “Isolated” which I turned into “Isolada” until my mom threw a Spanish dictionary to my head and told me not to embarrass myself anymore. I was too busy being responsible which is the only thing I have been since I came to the U.S. I had been such a frivolous silly girl when I was at home that I guess I felt the need to be the complete opposite, I had to change because that girl I was wouldn’t have survived a month here, I needed to step up to the plate, so I did, but I left behind any chance at silliness or irresponsibility, any chance of careless fun and selfish enjoyment. All of the sudden I was an adult and I left no room for the young person I was and some part of me regrets it.

I never got to have a one night stand, something that the media, books and life makes me believe is a thing every woman has done at least once, I actually learned how to do a dress from a pillow case (thanks to Cosmo) in case I had to do the walk of shame the morning after and all for nothing!

I am not saying that I wish I had done it but is more experience that I will not have (now because I am married and there is the tiny problem of my vows) and before because I was being boring and responsible. Blah.

So here I am a 26 year old woman with no sizzling tales to tell her grandchildren. I always wanted to be that kind of grandma, you know? The one that her kids are afraid to leave the children with in case she does something crazy like offer them pot or take them to get a tattoo. I want to be the grandma or aunt they come to ask for contraceptives, alcohol candy, or advice on sex homework and stuff like that.

I have all this theoretical knowledge from books on how to do a shot glass from paper, make dresses from pillowcases and put your hair up using your thong yet my crazy years passed me by before I had time to do it.

Even the simplest of things like driving I was a late bloomer for. My CR taught me, (among other things) *wink-wink* how to drive. He refused to haul my ass around any longer and nicely told me to get behind the wheel and stop being such a pussy scaredy cat. Here I am twenty-six years old and I just failed my driving test.

There was a sixteen year old emo kid with skater pants so tight he probably had to Pam himself into them, who passed his damned test. I am living the same experiences a sixteen year old kid is living right now... well actually not even because the kid actually got his license and I didn’t.

I am a twenty-six year old walk of shame virgin without a license. That thought it’s just too depressing for words.