Today I am officially a quarter of a century old.

Somehow I have managed to avoid being the collateral damage of an alien invasion or a giant meteor hurling itself into the earth. Although, I am quite certain I would be one of those few remaining people who managed to outlive the majority of humanity’s weaklings in such an event. I have long enough hair to substitute as a rope I need be, I’m assuming the few episodes of Bush Tucker Man I saw as a child would come back to me at the necessary moments of outback hunger and I have the right amount of sass to make me a valid character for the imagined audience to relate to but also enjoy.

Yes, I am 25. I can now rent a car and pay less to my insurance company if I have a prang. If I were in the royal family I could announce my intent to marry whomever I chose. If you were to round my age to the nearest 10, I’d be 30. I am mature, I am strong, I am wearing just an oversized t-shirt with galloping horses on it and undies I bought in a two-pack from Coles.

This is an important age, according to the internet and according to me – because when I turn a milestone number I get to live by the rules of Birthday Month instead of my usual Birthday Week extravaganza.

You see, on The Internet, 25 is a pivotal age. Most listicles about being in your twenties – believe me, there are shitloads of them – reference 25 as a landmark mostly for things you’ve supposed to have done/learnt/experienced by. They usually are prefaced by telling you in some “I give zero fucks” way that you should be yourself and stop comparing yourself to others and then proceed to tell you what they’ve learnt through their deeper-than-magma experiences as a middle classed white person like they’re passing down some deep wisdom. They usually tell you to be ok with drinking wine alone and all that shit, because there’s nothing healthier than smashing alcohol in solitude and not talking to people. You just do you! Hahaha hashtag wine!

So for the sake of hypocritically patronizing you with what I’ve learnt in my four lots of five years on earth, here’s my response to what The Internet reckons I should have done by now.

Go to a music festival: Been there, done that, I’m probably cooler than you. The last Splendour I went to I got gastro and ended up in the medic tent after vomiting up my toothpaste.

Buy dinner for your parents: I once drove half an hour each way to a Chinese food store to feed my creators and chief financial backers. That should be enough.

Travel to another continent: I went to Thailand and partied so hard I lost my clothes, my thongs and woke up in my mate’s bed after vomiting in my own. On the plane ride back I smuggled two triple cheeseburgers into my carry on from the airport Hungry Jacks. When the cabin was dark and most people were asleep, I tried as quietly as possible to take my tepid burger out of the wrapper in silence and stealthily consumed that glorious combination of meat, cheese and sin. I felt like the smartest woman alive. 

Try an adrenaline sport: I once had to abandon slipping down a family water slide at Wet’n’Wild while lining up on the stairs as I waited my turn. It was too damn high for me, so I dragged my hungover self to the relaxing safety of Calypso Bay – which is where a gentle currently calmly guides you along an imitation river in an inflatable tube. That was close enough. And I’ve repeadly tried to convince people to go on the Aqua Duck with me to no avail. I don’t think I need to try adrenaline. I think safety is the biggest thrill of all. Who needs a racing pulse when you can be assured of having a continued pulse by remaining alive for as long as possible by minimal risky behaviour? Dickheads, that’s who.

Spend the whole weekend partying: Mate, last night I stayed up until midnight to bake  a cake and today I bought a teapot. I think I’m right.

Have a good convo with someone of a different faith: I’ve had many a stimulating conversation with people who would choose Cold Rock over Baskin and Robbins. They’re not so different from us after all!

Vote: I’ve done worse things for a sausage (like sneakily stealing one from a barbecue tray when I’d already had more than my share).

Dye your hair a completely different colour: I went red for a period in Year 7. It didn’t land me a role as the only Weasley sister. Now I am just the run-of-the-mill-non-friends-with-Daniel-Radcliffe-nobody brown.

Let go of a friendship: In primary school we were assigned pen pals with some random home-schooled kids we used to have to invite to our sports days because our school was too small to make up the numbers. I stopped writing back after I realised her name was Rosemary, which I thought was a shit name at the time. Now she probably goes by Rosie and owns a bitchin’ zine. I’m an idiot.

Like yourself: There have some been some very close calls where I’ve nearly liked my own Insty photos, but I managed to avoid it.

Practice being charitable: Sometimes my sister stinks, I don’t bring it up so I don’t hurt her feelings (but also because it would do nothing to change her habit of brushing her teeth only once a day).

Let the Grudge go: I’ve actually never owned or seen that movie, so I guess I don’t need to do this one? On a side note, I have a copy of The Bling Ring I don’t need anymore, if you’re keen.

Go on a blind date: I met my Uber driver from New Year’s Eve for coffee last week. It was technically blind for me because I was too drunk to properly remember what he looked like. I got free cake out of it and an awkward hug, but that’s about the extent of it.

Exercise: Oh, I eat far too much bread not to. I actually run like the wind (and by “wind” I mean “heavily breathing sweaty red monster who mouths the words to Amy Whinehouse’s Valerie with enough to emotion to make passers-by think she’s going through an emotional breakdown“).

Eat an exotic food: I don’t know if you know this, but I have hummus quite a lot. I’m pretty cultured like that.

Learn to cook: I have one word for you: nuggchos.

Save for your retirement: hahahah. My most expensive asset is an unregsitered car held together with thumbtacks. Retirement is never going to be an option for me.

There’s more to go, but I have to go put pants on and drink beers now. If I’m stumped for ideas for my Wednesday post, I will continue this later!