Getting Older(-ish)
I don’t know what it is about age (getting older), but it scares the crap out of me.
I guess there are certain age related events and happenings that I have taken for granted. Turning the big 22 feels more like turning the big 32.
Whatcha talkin’ ’bout, Willis?
Well let me explain, Arnold:
Your reference of late 80s/early 90s TV shows seems to confound people more than enlighten them of anything.
I finally got a Christmas card. If there’s one thing that reminds you that you’re headed into an abyss of candy bowls and sugar cookies, it’s the dreaded Christmas card.
I remember when I was in high school. Searching for that sketchy liquor store in that sketchy town that didn’t card was freaking awesome. Everyone (under age) has always wanted to buy alcohol without being asked for an I.D. I, in grandpa fashion, went to Vons (–if there’s one place that cards without a doubt, it’s Vons, right?–) a few weeks ago and, amidst a busy store, was ushered right along with my alcoholic beverages. No “hey I know you look old enough, but just in case… let me see your I.D.” Nope. The cashier just glanced at me, along with my half-assed beard and receding hairline, and didn’t even bother to see the proof. Don’t I still look under 25? The nerve…
Young girls like me. I am that “older guy” that all the seventeeners talk about. The mature older guy. Fuck!
Loud music is beginning to wear on my hearing.
My “chill” to “party” ratio is 3:1, by choice.
Nobody laughs anymore when you reminisce by using certain language: “Remember way back in the day when…” or “Oh man, this is an oldie but a goodie.”
Drunken karaoke doesn’t seem soo gay anymore. In fact, it doesn’t seem gay at all.
Reading is fun and exciting.
Not only are you qualified to give advice to the youngens, but you feel great and accomplished when you do—kind of like you’ve made a positive change: “No, Jessie, lying to your parents is fine. In fact, they lie to you all the time…”
Oh crap, I have to take my calcium-magnesium complex. Where’s my cane? And what’s all that damn racket? Wait, I don’t need a cane…
I’m old.
