Hi, I'm Twixter One

When I was little, all I ever wanted to be was a grown up. I was always described as "mature for my age" and thought talking to the adults was much more fun than playing tag with the kids.

Then one day I woke up with a degree being mailed to my parents house, with no job, no money, and no place to live. I spent the next six-months bumming in my on-campus apartment and living off of my credit card.

I took me five-months to become gainfully employed and another month to find a place that would let me wear my rainbows and converses to work every day if I liked. The fact of the matter is that condition was even more important than health insurance.

So I made the jump and moved an hour North to Burbank, CA where I am currently spending my days working as an executive assistant and my nights sleeping on a cot on an old professors floor. I eat breakfast and lunch out of the company refrigerator and enjoy Wendy's 99 cent menu for dinner.

Hello, may name is Twixter One, and yes, I'm a part of Generation Y.

Hold on, you may pause - what exactly IS a Twixter?

A twixter is a twenty something who basically refuses to grow up. They jump continuously from job to job, they live at their parents house, and never understand the definition of 'cash' because money always comes on plastic.

I never thought I'd become a twixter. Growing up seemed glamorous, exciting. I always dreamed of getting that perfect job straight out of college and moving into that perfect urban apartment. I wanted everything, including the white pickett fence.

Well, I sold the white pickett fence for gas money.

But at least now I'm on my way. I still have more plastic than paper, and I'm beginning to look longingly and gratefully at those squeaky college bunk beds. But I've got a new car (story for a later post), a new city, and a new job.

And as of today, a new blog. Hope you enjoy - I'm sure it'll be a road trip to remember (but not necessarily one to re-try!)