As a twenty something I often feel like I'm living in a strange space. I'm definately not a child anymore and have no excuse to act like one (dammit) but I'm also not quite a grown up.
Maybe Britney Spears was on to something when she belted out "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman" back in 2001. Although on closer inspection it appears that heartfelt pop number was penned by a forty something Swedish dude called Max. Hmm. Anyway, there are many things about being a twenty something that emphasise that feeling. One of them is being in a long term relationship.
Being in a committed relationship in your twenties is both an odd and fantastic thing. Maybe the strangest part is there's really no accepted term that describes a couple who aren't married or engaged but are beyond the realms of 'friends with benefits' or dating. The best Facebook can come up with is "In a relationship"- it doesn't exactly give you a plethora of options to choose from. Although, I prefer to leave that box blank anyway to avoid the slightest chance of that broken heart symbol making it's way onto my wall, inviting people to post sad emoticons as a gesture of sympathy...ugh.
I actually still haven't found a term which I'm comfortable using for my other half (yep hate that one too). 'Partner' is probably the worst of them all, yet the one most commonly used by twenty somethings. I shudder when I use it but I have been guilty of dropping the "p" bomb on occasion. Mainly because the alternative is 'boyfriend' and that makes it sound as if our relationship consists of giggling when we see each other across the field and calling each other after school to make sure we're still 'going out'.
There's also the fact that the Government won't even recognise a long term relationship unless you've been living together for two years. I feel a bit naughty when I tick the box on the census saying I'm single..."Hey babe, just out on a date with that guy from work because you know technically....". Um no.
Then once the Government recognises that you are in a relationship you get slammed with the 'defacto' label. Who came up with that gem I wonder. It sounds more like an evil robot than a relationship status. Something to look forward to I guess as Tom (aka partner, boyfriend etc) and I have been living together for about five months- with other flatmates mind you (big difference!).
Moving in together was quite a big step for us and has kind of cemented our 'committed' status. When I say we share a bed I can say that we literally share a bed. I bought a brand spanking new one mere months before we bunked in together. Mine had a better base- his had a better mattress so we've mixed and matched. Quite a step really which could lead to some awkwardness if we go our separate ways (my Mum snatched up the leftovers for the spare room at home).
When you think about it, a twenty something relationship is really about firsts. First shared room, first joint account, first time...ahem, oh ok that may have happened earlier on. Recently Tom and I have made our first joint purchase (not counting the paddling pool we invested in last summer) in the form of a DSLR camera.
This expensive new toy is beautiful and makes my amateur point and shoot attempts look magazine worthy. But as great as it is, the fact that it is owned by both of us has caused a bit of tension...like for instance, who gets it for Christmas? We're not quite ready to start choosing which family gets the privilege of our presence for the silly season so figure each to their own is the best policy this year. I've managed to get custody of the camera somehow which scares me a bit. It's like I'm babysitting this thing and if I break it I'm in BIG trouble...maybe I should have asked for the paddling pool instead.
One thing that is brilliant about twenty something relationships is the joint income. Ironically I have never dated more than I have now being in a long term relationship. Mainly because dating is expensive!
With our bank balances combined we are officially DINKS (Double Income No Kids). Our most recent indulgent DINK experience consisted of a weekend in the Hawkes Bay looking out of place at fancy wineries, drinking and eating and well...drinking and eating. It was bliss and gave us a great excuse to use the new toy (which we shared with very little squabbling).
Not to say that twenty something relationships are a walk in the park...or vines. If I've learnt one thing from my experience, being involved with another twenty something is quite the adventure and definately a learning curve. Lesson number one for me being; don't get your feet near the pillows...seriously.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Not just a number
Working in radio often means I get a taste of products that are yet to hit the shops. Recently I was lucky enough (or so I thought) to try the latest energy drink on the market. Unfortunately this taste trial resulted in resounding retching noises from all of the girls in the office, myself included. One of my coworkers described it as the taste you get from licking an envelope...which was alarmingly accurate.
Anyway, this little taste test was also accompanied by a couple of questions from the sales rep thrusting the product our way on behalf of his client (who was thankfully not present for the retching). It turns out that he was only interested in the opinions of a select few of us- that being, those in the 18-24 year old age bracket.
It was then that I realised I'm on the cusp of this 'youth' target market. This time next year I will have graduated from the 18-24 group which I find a little bit scary truth be told. What is it about being 25 that suddenly makes you unattractive to youth brands? Am I going to wake up on my 25th birthday and find myself increasingly interested in mortgage rates and saving my money for more significant purchases than takeaways, pretty tops and booze?
No I am not.
Age to me is simply a perception. A perception that changes with age, ironically. When I think about what being 25 meant to my 10 year old self I would be married, and a vet that moonlights as a ballerina. I saw 25 as the age when I would have sorted out my love life and career, with making babies being next on my to do list. 25 meant I was officially grown up.
Bizarrely enough marketing and advertising companies encourage this notion by cutting off the youth target at 24. In this day and age I don't see that as entirely accurate. When I look at my friends who have turned 25 recently none of them have come out with scary grown up decisions. Turning 25 has simply prompted them to have a decent piss up.
Recently I flew down to a 25th in Wellington because I felt a sense of obligation- it's regarded as a milestone and I wanted to be there to celebrate it with my friends. I guess you could say that 25ths are the new 21sts for my group of friends....just without the parental supervision and drunken speeches about past shags whilst nana stands by awkwardly.
So I guess it's not so scary to be turning 25 after all and when I think back to how I acted at 18 (shudder) it's probably not all bad that I'm soon to be out of the youth age group. It's just a bit strange to me that so called marketing experts haven't cottoned on to the fact that 'twenty something' is a far more attractive age group to target. We spend our money as frivolously as 18 year olds, it's just that we have more of it to throw away...good times.
Anyway, this little taste test was also accompanied by a couple of questions from the sales rep thrusting the product our way on behalf of his client (who was thankfully not present for the retching). It turns out that he was only interested in the opinions of a select few of us- that being, those in the 18-24 year old age bracket.
It was then that I realised I'm on the cusp of this 'youth' target market. This time next year I will have graduated from the 18-24 group which I find a little bit scary truth be told. What is it about being 25 that suddenly makes you unattractive to youth brands? Am I going to wake up on my 25th birthday and find myself increasingly interested in mortgage rates and saving my money for more significant purchases than takeaways, pretty tops and booze?
No I am not.
Age to me is simply a perception. A perception that changes with age, ironically. When I think about what being 25 meant to my 10 year old self I would be married, and a vet that moonlights as a ballerina. I saw 25 as the age when I would have sorted out my love life and career, with making babies being next on my to do list. 25 meant I was officially grown up.
Bizarrely enough marketing and advertising companies encourage this notion by cutting off the youth target at 24. In this day and age I don't see that as entirely accurate. When I look at my friends who have turned 25 recently none of them have come out with scary grown up decisions. Turning 25 has simply prompted them to have a decent piss up.
Recently I flew down to a 25th in Wellington because I felt a sense of obligation- it's regarded as a milestone and I wanted to be there to celebrate it with my friends. I guess you could say that 25ths are the new 21sts for my group of friends....just without the parental supervision and drunken speeches about past shags whilst nana stands by awkwardly.
So I guess it's not so scary to be turning 25 after all and when I think back to how I acted at 18 (shudder) it's probably not all bad that I'm soon to be out of the youth age group. It's just a bit strange to me that so called marketing experts haven't cottoned on to the fact that 'twenty something' is a far more attractive age group to target. We spend our money as frivolously as 18 year olds, it's just that we have more of it to throw away...good times.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Riding the wave
I'm feeling rather smug today after rising before 9am and running 10km (on a Sunday I might add!). Although this was certainly not the case yesterday...or the day before. To be honest I'm still recovering from an eventful end of week.
On Thursday night I was lucky enough to attend the NZ Music Awards. We were most definately in the cheap seats but after the ceremony our passes allowed us to mingle with the elite and partake in the free food/booze (which do you think I was more excited about?).
In terms of alcohol consumption I was relatively well behaved (I did however manage to nail TWO Magnum Sandwich icecreams...oops). The reason I didn't want to go all out is because the following day was survey day and being in my twenties I find two big nights in a row quite the mission.
I should probably explain survey day to those of you not in the radio biz. It's basically when the ratings for radio stations in NZ are released (people are selected at random and given survey books to fill out across a six week period letting us know who they listen to and when). And because radio people are radio people, regardless of whether our station achieves a good or bad result, survey day = drinking.
So as I downed my first drink of the day at 10am on Friday (yes I know) I was officially riding the wave. A term coined by my flatmate who has certainly mastered the art of pushing through the pain and drinking to cure a hangover. Unfortunately like climbing trees and crossing your legs, riding the wave is much easier when you're younger.
Student life took riding the wave to a whole new level. There was no such thing as a school night anymore. In fact the biggest night of the week was Wednesday where the Fat Ladies Arms in Wellington (classy establishment that it was) offered $2 drinks for students and we ordered them by the tray full (yes like a fast food restaurant)....ah memories.
You could stop for a break after Wednesday but why bother when the weekend was a mere day away. So more often than not, Wednesday signalled the start of the University weekend- or if you like, the start of the wave.
It's ironic really how alcohol makes you act like a child at the time of consumption and consequently makes you truly feel your age (or older) the next day. Nature's way of telling twenty somethings to slow down I guess (if only we'd listen).
I'll leave you with this shot of my flatmate after his Friday night and yep, he climbed back on the board for a Saturday night surf...legend.
On Thursday night I was lucky enough to attend the NZ Music Awards. We were most definately in the cheap seats but after the ceremony our passes allowed us to mingle with the elite and partake in the free food/booze (which do you think I was more excited about?).
In terms of alcohol consumption I was relatively well behaved (I did however manage to nail TWO Magnum Sandwich icecreams...oops). The reason I didn't want to go all out is because the following day was survey day and being in my twenties I find two big nights in a row quite the mission.
I should probably explain survey day to those of you not in the radio biz. It's basically when the ratings for radio stations in NZ are released (people are selected at random and given survey books to fill out across a six week period letting us know who they listen to and when). And because radio people are radio people, regardless of whether our station achieves a good or bad result, survey day = drinking.
So as I downed my first drink of the day at 10am on Friday (yes I know) I was officially riding the wave. A term coined by my flatmate who has certainly mastered the art of pushing through the pain and drinking to cure a hangover. Unfortunately like climbing trees and crossing your legs, riding the wave is much easier when you're younger.
I fondly remember the days in highschool when you could guzzle back 'rocket fuel' (aka whatever you think your parents won't notice missing from the alcohol cabinet mixed with some fizzy drink) only to wake up ready for the next session. Plus you had an inhouse chef to prepare a fry up for you (cheers Mum).
Student life took riding the wave to a whole new level. There was no such thing as a school night anymore. In fact the biggest night of the week was Wednesday where the Fat Ladies Arms in Wellington (classy establishment that it was) offered $2 drinks for students and we ordered them by the tray full (yes like a fast food restaurant)....ah memories.
You could stop for a break after Wednesday but why bother when the weekend was a mere day away. So more often than not, Wednesday signalled the start of the University weekend- or if you like, the start of the wave.
Like I said though, this riding of the wave business is a struggle and takes it's toll on my twenty something body (and potentially 40 something liver). Even though I refrained at the music awards I still ended up a mess on Friday and once I got back on the board so to speak, it was less riding of a wave than riding a steady slope downhill.
My wipeout I guess you could call it, occurred when I stepped outside the bar where survey party was being held around 11pm only to be refused entry when I tried to come back in. I would like to say that I graciously accepted that it really was time for me to go home but unfortunately no. There were tears. Yes, I officially cried because I wasn't allowed to drink any more alcohol...whilst my peers watched on (just to rub salt into the wound).
It's ironic really how alcohol makes you act like a child at the time of consumption and consequently makes you truly feel your age (or older) the next day. Nature's way of telling twenty somethings to slow down I guess (if only we'd listen).
I'll leave you with this shot of my flatmate after his Friday night and yep, he climbed back on the board for a Saturday night surf...legend.
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