no one likes to lose control, but for me, there's nothing worse. it's a sign of weakness. and sometimes, it just gets away from me. the world stops spinning and i realize that my brains and cleavage and sarcastic comments aren't going to save me. no matter how hard i fight it, i fall. and it's scary as hell.

except there's an upside to freefalling. it's the chance you give your friends to catch you.

after a complete family meltdown yesterday afternoon, i was supposed to meet a handful of friends for drinks. although i normally would have bailed, i realized that even another 6 episodes of season two of nip/tuck would not have made me feel better.

and frankly, when sex and plastic surgery can't fix something, there's little hope.

i don't know if it's my latina side, my jewish side, or my look-at-me-center-of-attention-control-freak side, but when it comes to social gatherings, i've found myself often elaborating on the unnecessary details of the dramatic/traumatic stories of my life. for me, communication is interactive and dynamic. and often includes a lot of hand gestures underlined by a volume that is probably a decibel too loud for most restaurants.

on my way home from drinks -- exhausted but feeling mildly better about the fact that my dad called me an irresponsible and selfish slut yesterday -- two thoughts crossed my mind.

the first was that there was something special about the people i had entrusted with the burden of my horrible day. i hadn't seen danny since i left dc two years ago. and probably hadn't seen josh since i graduated college. i think i see alyson at random moments we both happen to be in dc, and deb and i have a deeply passionate relationship ... over instant messenger (apparently, online relationships are a symptom of studying for the bar).

but somehow, once the margaritas were down, it was as we hadn't graduated from college almost a half dozen years ago. after all, these were the people with whom i shared some of the best moments in my life. and i didn't even have to fuck a single one of them!

the second thing i wondered about was whether my life is really any more dramatic/traumatic than the lives of my fellow twenty-nothings. or if maybe i am just more open about sharing intimate details. the kid who finally got me to orgasm after 26 years. the fact that i might be the only first year law student who refuses to look at her grades. the time one of my cats got loose on an airplane. the sexual assault. the fake eye lash extensions for my sister's wedding.

i am not disconnected enough to know that these are the typical situations that challenge the twenty-nothing generation.

and, "slut" is a fatherly term of endearment, right?

on the subject of dating in the twenty-first century, some have argued that only one boundary remains: dating significantly above or below one's rank in looks.

right before i left DC two years ago, there was a morning when the (now-ex)boyfriend and i were walking up P street in dupont. when we kindly declined a homeless woman spare change, she hollered after him: "you better hold onto that girl at your side. she is way too good looking to be with a scrub like you."

(at the time, i think we both pretended not to hear her.)

today, as we struggle with politically charged issues from affirmative action to immigration and discrimination towards cultures and religions, the twenty-something generation may be the first to grow up without the dispositive feelings about the prejudiced relations of our predecessors. forty-one years ago today, the supreme court struck down a virginia law preventing marriage between african americans and whites.

certainly, residue of a discomfort remains with the notion of mixed-dating (for example, a friend i once talked out of going to rabbinical school dating a non-jewish chick -- for one reason or another -- admittedly, hasn't been sitting right with me). however, i don't think that nontraditional marriages are the pervasive deal breaker and familial divider that they once were. dude, even the japanese woman was even allowed to marry the white patient in season 1 of nip/tuck.

as i consider my generational peers, it feels like the boundaries and deal breakers for dating and marriage are more undefined than they have ever been before. surely, even in modernity, attitudes toward interfaith, interracial, inter-age and same sex dating are a pertinent topic for many identities, probably because they are seen as a threat to group solidarity. but so are opinions on pubic hair grooming and dark nail polish during summer months.

in short, the disapproval of barriers in age-discrepancy, interfaith, interracial, same-sex, cross-cultural, and even michigan-osu are far less controversial than they once were. (save the latter, perhaps.) in fact, tina, one of my closest friends from law school and asian slave (here, tina, mix this bowl of cookie dough), is vocal on her preference to "marry white" to ensure her children's good looks. never mind the fact that she, herself, is gorgeous.

after my last anti-climatic breakup, i spent some much needed time exploring these hypotheses on diversity -- in depth, if you will. my therapist called it inappropriate sexual impulsivity; i called it the "celebrate-diversity-hook-up-tour." and here's what i have to report: profession, relationship status (don't ask), penis size and time-to-unhook-bra all have zero correlations to skill level in bed. and it's true: we all look the same in the dark.

this morning as i was riding the metro to work, i noticed a couple completely going at it. people on the train were glaring. looking around at fellow riders dressed in stuffy suits and ties, skirts and button down shirts, i sensed a feeling of disapproval towards this public display of affection ... between an interracial couple.

i was outraged. annoyed. ready to blog. after all, DC is a notoriously liberal city with relatively tolerant perspectives towards these kinds of things. i was annoyed that this couple was being viewed as an object of derision by individuals who were unwilling to accept that interracial relationships are evidence of a world full of diversity that is finally beginning to live in acceptance.

and then i got hostile too when i realized the likely reason behind the collective disapproving sentiments.

it's just not fair.

how come i never get felt up on public transportation during morning rush hour?

in the end, i haven't quite figured out what it means for me. other than i require someone who can:

(a) make me laugh
(b) put up with my mood swings
(c) allow me to be independent
(d) get me to orgasm
(e) all of the above.

(groping on public transportation is preferred; not required.)

my personal mentor and career protege, gabby, came up with my favorite analogy of the inherently transient nature of the typical DC experience. (yeah, i've written about it before.) she always said she felt like she was in mtv's show the real world: the issues and premise were the same. but the cast always changed.

so when i planned to return to DC for this summer, i was ready for there to be new hook ups, different players, and some unnecessary drama. and hopefully at least one topless scene in some random hot tub.

but it turns out that this isn't even the same fucking tv show.

i'm on a whole other spinoff series. well call me addison montgomery from grey's anatomy.

two years ago (crap, it's been two years?), i took the comforts of my favorite city, a penthouse apartment, a solid job, some good friends, and a boyfriend and exchanged them for a perverted sense of mediocrity, a $300.000 debt, and social relationships that are vaguely based on what color professor mann's suspenders were and how obnoxious we could possibly be to marta the marketing teacher (since fired).

no matter what choices we make in life, it gets messy. removed from all that i knew, the looming question of what if was relatively easily silenced by distance. and i guess that's why being back in this city has left me with sleepless nights wondering -- in addition to whether there's any health benefit to swallowing -- what if.

what if i never left?
what if i never moved here?
what if i had followed my ex-boyfriend to law school the way it was assumed i should?
what if i were a fire-breathing dragon? (dude, how cool would *that* be?)

whatif.whatif.whatif.

what if for the first time in almost two years, i was going to see the ex-boyfriend?

there is something anxiety-producing about sitting down with someone who was once such a fundamental part of my identity that it was impossible to exist outside him and who then disappeared from my life almost instantly.

because of the decision i made to go to harvard, i suspect.

on good days, i remember that growing up means making tough decisions and living with the consequences. we have to see for ourselves. we have to learn our own lessons. we have to sweep today's possibility under tomorrow's rug until we can't anymore. we can spend our lives drawing lines. or we can choose to live our lives testing boundaries.

still. a lot of the time, despite the fact that i like to think that i am humane, conscientious, civilized, and thoughtful, when things fall apart, even just a little, it becomes clear i am no better than a psycho ex-girlfriend an animal. and in light of all that i struggle with, i wonder what the hell is holding me together.

it's like one day i'll realize that the fairy tale may be slightly different than i once dreamed. the castle may not be that particular penthouse apartment. and the solid job may be just a transition into a dream career. and the friends who are actually still friends call at 2am to say your gmail statuses are unacceptably depressing.

and maybe happily ever after is less important than being happy -- or at least okay -- right now.

there may not be a slew of steamy doctors on my spinoff reality series. but ratings are better when there's good cleavage anyway.

having moved back home to dc for the summer, more people have asked about the demise of twenty-nothing.com in the last two weeks than i've thought about it in the last two years.

perhaps the untimely downfall of twenty-nothing was a result of growing pains. perhaps it was a result of admitted self-defeat. or maybe it was a result of just not having enough real conversations spoken in confidentially that are worth writing about under the guise of oh-i-made-that-up.

call it fate. call it deep-seeded narcissism. or call it voyeuristic. whatever it is, i have something to say and why reduce it to 160 characters in a text message sent to a handful of friends when i can share it with a whole bunch of people i don't even know?

after the longest silence since twenty-nothing.com's inception, i was not necessarily searching for some form of inspiration this morning when the motivation to reopen the darkened hallows of my twenty-nothing experience struck.

for the first time, someone was up-front with me about my blog. there is some discomfort about a catholic-ish latina chick -- who has been given every opportunity in life -- whining about admittedly petty issues.

and here's what i have to say: you're right.

i'm not hungry (unless i'm on a self-imposed diet). i'm not homeless. i'm not discriminated against (well, to the extent that latinos can make such an assertion). and -- thank goodness -- i'm lacking for pedicures either.

indeed, by all measures, as a bright, personable, and overachieving individual, i should have little to "whine" about. you're right.

... so then why am i not happy?

in spite of parental concern and economic advantage, many fellow twenty-somethings suffer from readily apparent emotional complications: addictions, anxiety disorders, depression, eating disorders and other self-destructive behaviors like bad blonde highlights. we are perplexingly unhappy. we are aware -- and often hastily reminded -- that we are privileged.

and i think that's the point.

as a twenty-something in the twenty-first century, the bottom line is i still feel like something is missing.

it is tempting to trivialize the problems of twenty-somethings who have been liberally handed both material and educational opportunities. but despite being a model of competence (well, my peers in both business school and law school may disagree with this self-description), twenty-six and one-half years into my life, i still lack a fundamental sense of who i am and what the fuck i am doing.

at the end of the day, the fact that deion's car and every important possession to his twenty-something life (cell phone, wallet, ipod, GPS, bar-bri books) was stolen *may be* a "petty" issue. so may the fact that my uncle tried to commit suicide on my birthday this past december. or the fact that i was sexually assaulted the same week.

so may be being honest to myself and others about the fact that i had never had an orgasm. until recently. (apologies to former hook-ups and ex-boyfriends.)

and well ... maybe all of that is petty.

but i'm into heavy-pettying.