Celibacy in the Suburbs

When you're 25, what's the last thing you want to be reminded of?

"I think the last time we sealed the driveway, you were both in college." My mom had taken Len and I to lunch since we'd spent the entire morning slaving away with brushes trying to evenly coat our driveway with tar scented black goo. "You were in college, thats right. Because nobody could help me but your grandparents. We spent two days breaking our backs. Thank goodness you guys were here this time."
I swirled a piece of bread around in the plate of olive oil at our table. "I must not have been living at home then. I don't remember anything about that."
"Yeah," Len said, "Me neither."
The only sealing-the-driveway episodes of my life that I recalled were from when my dad had lived with us. It was like he couldn't complete any household project without getting really angry, really sweaty, and driving everyone away from him. Oh, and possibly chucking a few curses we didn't often hear in there as well. Sealing the driveway had been long and hot, but it hadn't been anything I'd whip out my Sailor's Thesaurus of Colorful Metaphors for.
"Well, I guess if we did it around four or five years ago, we won't have to do it for another four or five years from now!" Mom chirped like a little bird when she was happy. She also smoothed over situations that way. She might have been doing that at lunch too, because Len was looking particularly cranky. He kept closing his eyes like he didn't want to be there. Then again, Len did that alot. He would probably have rather been playing X-Box games than sealing the driveway or even eating with us. Len was weird for being 21.
"Hey, honey!" Mom turned to me. "You know, the next time we seal the driveway-- you'll be thirty!"

Is it really that bad to be 25 and have no hope of living the life you thought you'd live?

"What do you want to be when you grow up?: An archaeologist."

I think archaeologist was the biggest word I could spell at nine. I was proud of it. I liked dinosaurs. So I wrote down archaeologist and had my fourth grade teacher come over to check my spelling not because I needed my spelling checked, but because I knew I'd spelled it correctly and wanted her to know. From there I changed my "career path" from archaeology to writer, to actor, back to writer, then to English teacher, then to ESL teacher, and now to... young professional? I don't know what I am.

"Maybe somebody will snatch you up and marry you, and you won't have to worry what you're gonna be anymore."

My grandma is hilarious. But she's not exactly this-century.
The truth is, I am the exact opposite of Sex and the City. My life is Celibacy in the Suburbs. In fact, there's nothing wrong with Celibacy in the Suburbs. The only thing is that I kinda wish I could claim more. Sometimes, grandma's right. I wish some hot soccer player like Sergio Ramos would scoop me up out of bored suburbia and keep me from having to make decisions. The only decision I'd have to make is to do his intense amount of laundry (you know, cuz he gets all sweaty) and that'd be that.
But you know, I don't want that for myself. The truth is that I need to scoop myself up. I need to reclaim all the life I have to live. And that doesn't mean I should become Sex and the City as opposed to Celibacy in the Suburbs. That means I need to have enough faith in myself to take a leap and DO something.

"Are you sure you're American?"
I was calling Copenhagen. The city. In Denmark. Yes, that one. Never mind why.
"I've been here my entire life," I said. I made a right turn out of the drive to the lookout.
"And you never wanted to go somewhere else?"
"My mother would tell you that she doesn't have to leave the country to know she's in the best possible place."
"But you're not like that." He kept beginning his sentences with conjunctions.
"Nope. I'm not. I never have been." I laughed to myself. "I've always had to try everything. I've gotten in lots of trouble because of it, but that's the way I am."
"You should get your passport at least. Get yourself ready."
"Ready for what? I'm not leaving unless somebody goes with me. And who's gonna go with me anyway."
"You don't understand. In Europe-- oh, you would love Europe. In Europe people don't look at you with bad intentions. They look at you because you're there. Lots of girls are beautiful in Europe you would fit right in and you don't even know it." I doubted that. Both parts.
"Well, thanks. But you don't know how short I am. Or the fact that I'm not right in places."
"You're right all over I'm sure. Just save your money. Then go somewhere cool."
"I should." I considered this. I appreciated the fact that he wasn't telling me to go to Denmark. I did want my passport.
"Canada would be inexpensive. It would be different."
"New York would be different, though. Its in the US and I've never even seen it."
"Europe should be your aim. Try Spain. Its so perfect."
"I could hunt down Sergio Ramos..."
"You could drink wine on the streets..."
"Yeah..." I pictured dark hair and dark eyes with a strong bone structure and impeccable fashion taste.
"I just told myself one day," he said, "I can't live here and work until I die. I want to live my life. The time here is short. And to be on this planet and not see what it is capable of, to not see what YOU are capable of... is sad."

Thats when I realized I had been driving around aimlessly and was going to have to go way out of my way to get back home.
I decided I was going to save money. I would take advantage of living at home and save it all. No matter how cranky Len was. No matter how poorly I could spell my own profession, or even define it. Man or no man. I might have moved home because Daniel Castillo didn't like my neighbors saying hi to me, or the fact that I was young and unmarried and living alone, but I was sure as hell going to use this time at home to save money and eventually be young and unmarried and hanging out abroad!

I almost ran over the three empty containers of tar-scented goo before remembering that I had to park on the grass. By the time the driveway is sealed again, I thought to myself, I want to be more than Celibate in the Suburbs. I want to have scooped myself up and carried myself away. I want to know what myself and the world can do for each other.