I love being twenty. I love being in my twenties. There are many reasons to love (arguably) the “prime” of your life, but for me the best part about being twenty (henceforth I’ll just say “my twenties” as not to alienate the other twenty-somethings who are, y’know, twenty-two or twenty-five, because this all probably applies to them as well. Probably not the twenty-seven’s and up though), is the excuses.

Stealing a bit from a recent conversation I had with my parents about an upcoming trip I’m taking to visit friends in Wisconsin, they asked me where I was staying. While I had given it some thought, I decided that this detail wasn’t really that important, because I’d be spending most of the night awake and drunk. I realize this may sound reckless, and my parents thought so too, which is why they pressed me on the subject. Having no other answer, I simply replied “I don’t know. I’m twenty.” And with a quick shrug I solemnly changed the subject to Tony Snow.

Apparently this excuse was good enough to pacify them, because either they were so distracted by the death of the former press secretary, or the fact that I’m twenty was reason enough to do something irregular and fairly rash.

After giving it some thought, I realized that I’ve probably used this excuse for other reasons as well. Joel, why you can’t get impossibly inebriated for nine days in a row! I’m twenty. Ok.

It’s important to follow this declaration with a careless shrug. Otherwise the impact and the magnitude of what you’re saying may not impact the person you’re speaking to. Maybe they’re wondering why you haven’t eaten anything but Hardees and McDonalds for the past five days, or question the safety of bar hopping just hours after an invasive surgical procedure. Simply roll your eyes and shrug your shoulders and explain to them in some kind of blase tone, “i’m twenty.” All further disputes will be quelled. 

Perhaps it’s because your twenties is the time when you have the bravado of a teenager with all the legal rights of an adult, or maybe it’s because everyone knows that your twenties is that time in your life when you do stupid, unhealthy, psychologically scarring shit  and anyone who’s lived beyond them knows that it’s the only time you can get away with it all. 

Maybe we’ll never know. All I know is that as long as I pay my rent, get my car payments in on time and don’t flunk out of college or get fired- I’ll live off of ovaltine and ramen, facebook until my eyes bleed, and drink way too much malt liquor for as long as I possibly can. Because dammit it all, I’m twenty.