I see you driving 'round town with the life I want, and I'm like... you know the song.

We all have that one friend.  You know the one.  The go-getter.  The self-starter.  The ridiculous-hyphenated-description-user.  The one that published her first book when she was 11, or that guy who started a company when he was 17, or the chick that wants to be a TV star, who not only gets your name wrong, but she also thinks you're three years younger than her, when actually she's a year younger than you.  Did I mention that she overuses the phrase, "Good for you!"?

And I don't know about you, but what is it about the cosmic powers of karmic synergy that make me see this friend whenever I look like I just finished a 6AM-4PM shift on the garbage truck?  She's dressed all business-urban chic: the perfectly-fitting pencil skirt, or the ridiculously shiny black pumps.  And the blazer that looks like it cost more than my bed.  And then there's me, in a bleach-stained tank top, hair barely pulled up in the same bun I put it in two days ago, and of course I'm wearing sweatpants.  And not one pair of sweatpants, but TWO, because it's fucking cold outside.  So basically I look like I lost all my clothes in a tragic house fire and then gained a ton of weight.  Maybe I should start telling people that.

So we're both in college now, but take five years off the clock, and where does that put us?  I'll tell you where I am: between hourly rate jobs, sporting hair in the exact same bird's nest of a bun and a Nacho Bell Grande belly, along with a nicotine addiction that's killing me faster than my overwhelming dissatisfaction with my place in the world.  No doubt I'll see "that friend" on TV or something, looking like a revival of the second verse of "Sk8er Boy."  Except I won't be feeding a baby.  I'd have to have a man to do that.  Do you think I could hire Avril Lavigne to sing about my woes?  Oh wait, she went pop - wouldn't feel right.  Damn it, Avril!  Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?!  

Clearly, I don't want this future to happen, but I don't want to be THAT friend either.  I hate suits.  And shiny black pumps.  I don't want to wear them, so what are my options here?  I can't rob banks or steal art - I'm not smart enough to get away with either, and those aren't exactly careers where you can apply the, "If at first you don't succeed..." rule.  It looks like white collar crime is out.  Any other suggestions?