Monday, November 17, 2008

37 is not 38, and 38 sounds so old

I’m in the final stretch of my 38th year, just a few more days to go until I turn the corner officially and I don the yoke of “eight-dom”. Spoke to Mom today and after I bemoaned my ever encroaching fate of numerical age I told her, “Well at least I’m cute?” There was an unexpected pregnant pause on the other end of the line as if she was searching for the correct words to respond to my statement wrapped in the form of a question, then the response came, “Yeah maybe you should focus more on clever and smart… cute not so much.” I tried to combat her insolence with the facts that my guy friends think I am adorable and even sexy (sometimes when my hair looks unnaturally great and after the veil of a few cocktails has lowered) but Mom retorted explaining that they are just friends and their opinion was hardly accountable next to that of one’s mother. Thanks Mom…. Thanks. At the end of the call Mom did reconsider her earlier judgment conceding to the fact that she has not seen me since Labor Day (photos do not count – so she says) so she rescinded her non-cute label temporarily until I arrive for a full inspection on Thanksgiving.

Ahh the inter-web is a vast and mysterious place and Facebook is a wonderful conduit to my past. I have recently been connecting to the ghosts of my youth and it’s kinda wonky and fun all at the same time. Peeps from my Elementary School days have discovered me and it is so strangely foreign that they have kids in JR. HS, own homes and businesses, and are basically living very adult lives. I on the other hand hang out in a 4th floor walk up with no real roots or responsibilities (oh except for the ever daunting Grad School loan). I can’t even imagine the life that these old classmates’ of mine have – I mean I know it is very normal… obviously more normal than my lifestyle but yet it is so mysterious to me. It’s like I’m wired in a totally opposite way. Oh well don’t wanna dwell too much on that. Another sect of people that have been climbing out of the woodwork are those from my EARLY days in the theater. It’s such a mind fuck because I am like 10 years OLDER than they were when I met them – does that make any sense? I mean I was a kid in the eighties and these people were adults prancing around my backyard in togas and lingerie, binge drinking and “hooking up” – ahhhh what a way to grow up.
In a final note I would like to proclaim in print that tequila is NOT my friend. I tend to forget this every few years so hopefully by announcing it here for all to see I will remember this fact and avoid any reconciliation that may be suggested by well meaning partiers.

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