Saturday, February 8, 2014

My Aching Bones!



A single Starbucks white mocha at 10pm left me so wired that I couldn't sleep longer than 4 hours last night, and I woke up with my back hurting and a distinct feeling of regret for staying up so late. Then the realization that I'm only 20 years old kicked in , and while most of my classmates were out boozing it up and getting schwasted last night, I came to accept the fact that I have an old soul just a few hours after I was sitting in a movie theater kind of laughing but mostly annoyed with the language in That Awkward Moment, the new Zac Efron movie that my friend and I saw on a whim.

The signs of my old soul wrinkling and collecting dust instead of partying made me think of other signs that I'm getting old. Here are a few:

1) I grumble when the weatherman predicts snow. 

There was a time, back when December first meant a close watch of the morning news before school and my ears would perk up at any sound that resembled the fluffy white stuff. Back before the days of emails and alerts sent to your phone, I would stare unblinking at the scrolling blue banner at the bottom of the tv, singing my ABC's in my head to see how long I had before my school district popped up. If I looked away or started daydreaming and I didn't remember seeing it, I would sit there and do it all over again, just it case. 

Now, any hint of snow receives a curled lip and a wrinkled nose like I just smelled something foul because snow is cold and wet and icky and it makes the roads slick and then I have to explain to my professors no, I'm not being lazy and skipping class, I really am just a bad driver in any situation outside of perfect conditions and especially bad when Virginia only has one snowplow and they haven't gotten to my road yet.

2) Vehemently saying (and believing) that there is no excuse for public schools to close when there is half an inch of snow on the ground.

We had a bit of snow and frigid temperatures recently, and the fact that schools cancelled because of the prediction that turned out to be nothing, and then were out the entire next week for days when there was only a dusting of snow left on the ground made me so frustrated at the school system that I complained right alongside all the other parents. And I don't even have kids yet.

3) I (not-so)secretly enjoy it when plans to do things are cancelled.

Bundle anti-social behavior and laziness and you have a perfect combination for doing absolutely nothing.


4) I start following Brian around the house turning off the lights because our last electric bill was through the roof. 

With all of the frigid temperatures and an inefficient heat pump, our electric bill doubled this past month. Now every time I see lights left on around the house, the voice that emerges from my throat sounds remarkably like my father...


5) Talking about digestive problems is no longer the embarrassing issue it once was. 

Growing up I would sit in the garage at our neighbors' house and hear my dad have an entire conversation with a group of adults about ewww... poo! and how difficult it was to do it when you got older. My lip would curl in disgust, and I would always shake my head in embarrassment, because it's POO and people shouldn't talk about that, at least not with someone other than a medical professional, and then, only if they specifically asked you because it pertains to some disease you might have. Now I'm right up there with the worst, talking about cervical mucous and constipation like its no big deal until I see the deer in headlights looks on people's faces. Did I come on too strong with the detailed description of how I know when I ovulate?

6) Having the dogs jump on the couch or on the bed is the worst thing that could happen

Back when I was a kid, I used to beg to have the dog sleep in my room and was always soundly rejected because, "Dogs don't belong on the bed." To rebel against that, from day one, Maya slept right on our feet for the first year of her life, up until we brought home Baron and the teeny puppy took over half of our queen sized bed. I realized then that we would have problems, and so both dogs were kicked off the bed. They were allowed on the couch but after we had to replace it because Baron's monster claws shredded the seats when he clambered on, if I see so much as a single black hair on the couch seat or on our comforter, I get all worked up like I'm a detective in an old movie that just caught the criminal. Ohhh I got ya now! You're going downtown, buster!

7) I'm talking about features I want in my dream house. 

A sliding glass door opening up to a large fenced in backyard with an expansive wooden deck, complete with outsourced patio furniture (edit: I originally typed "outdoor furniture", but Autocorrect decided that I really meant "outsourced". I find the irony astonishing so I think I'll leave it for your enjoyment) for when I just want to enjoy the sunshine without putting shoes on. Open kitchen design with tons of counter space, a deep sink, dishwasher, and large pantry closet. Big bay windows to let in the light. A master bathroom with one of those private toilet rooms, twin sinks, and a walk in shower with those revolving shower heads on different sides... Drool.

8) I complain about our neighbors for being too loud and once called the fire department on them for having a bonfire at 2a.m

One Saturday night (or Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it) after our neighbors first moved in with their five kids and set up their 4ft above ground pool in the backyard, Brian and I laid in bed unable to sleep because the sounds of our neighbors having a grand old time drinking beer and listening to loud music at 2a.m. with a five-foot flame coming off of a burn pile about three feet from their house were akeeping us awake, so we called the fire department and watched with our noses pressed against the windows as the truck pulled up and the firefighters scolded our neighbors by telling them to turn down the music and keep a firehose nearby. We then giggled like school children, climbed back into bed listening to our neighbors complain about it, and we proceeded to whisper in the dark about it like a pair of grumpy old geezers. Those kids these days have no respect!

9) When I'm babysitting, people assume I'm their mother.

Even if I'm with a 10 year old. I could possibly understand the confusion when I'm with the twins, my shirt is covered in snot or spit up or drool, and I look exhausted and people make that sound like aww your poor thing! You must be exhausted for taking care of twins all day, but when I manage to look reasonably well put together and I'm corralling three kids into Barnes and Noble for story time, the oldest one being 10 years old, having some lady seriously ask me if I could have my son help her with something was a low point. Right up there with having the youngest kid out of the group ask me how old I was.

"I'm 20."
"Woah, you're like, really old. What was the Civil War like?" 



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