Who the Hell Am I?

At 27, I'm so adult and boring at times, like when I scour the paper for half-price steaks or buy- one-get-one-free ice cream. Ok, so I rarely open the coupon section of the paper, but maybe I should. I'm at a weird in-between age - should I have kids and buy a house in the burbs? Or should I continue living my life the way I like it - in the city, working as a copywriter, married with dog?

Whenever I walk through (insert trendy neighborhood here) _____, I feel like I'm back in high school, sans lockers and gym class. A guy whizzes past on a unicycle. Another man stands at the corner, his shirt off, skinny and pale under the street lamp, waving a cane and screaming about the current war in Iraq. As a seasoned city person, I follow the protocol - look but don't stare. Give more than a quick glance to someone with giant combat boots and a mohawk that almost scrapes the clouds? You're likely to get a scowl and "don't look at me."

In the adult world, real world, or whatever you want to call it, people still want to be noticed. And it isn't just the bustling, trendy city neighborhood. In the suburbs, mothers want you to know their son is in the honors program and dads can't wait to pull the new BMW out of the garage. Everyone impatiently wait to hear the words, "you look like you lost weight" from coworkers and friends.

The world is what it is. We are all the same people with the same basic emotions. Hipsters and suburbanites want to be recognized, for their outfits, for their achievements, for whatever they do. Most people are another version of mediocre. Hipsters conform to other hipsters, while trying to make "great art" but saying things that have been said already.

The world is highschool but with manicured lawns, perfect houses or cityscapes as the setting. I don't want to be a part of either world. If I "grow up" and conform to society's expectations - beemer, manicured lawn, whitened teeth, I'm not me. But if I explore the creative, eccentric part of me and travel the world on a dime that's not responsible.

At 27, I have many choices. But the window of opportunity is quickly closing. More responsbility means less time for fun. I don't feel the need to get noticed, but I don't want to look back on these years and think I spent them looking through the paper for coupons or changing diapers. I also don't want to be the girl who rides a Vespa to poetry readings. So not me. Who the hell am I?