Inspired by my very dear friend, Emily, I am going to tackle this blog "thing."
Now, this isn't my first rodeo. I've had blogs over the years, and please allow me to age myself by referring to Xanga and LiveJournal, because any of us that are super cereal about teh internetz knows that those two platforms were the ish back in the day. And, damn if I didn't actually use them as journals, or at least the bastardized internet version of such things. I would spend actual time agonizing over my posts, verifying whether they contained just the right amount of angst to make me sound like my soul was only grey, not trenchcoat black, because that shit would've been basic. Except we would've said "hella lame" or something like that.
But this got me thinking about the fact that I am no longer in my 20's, which I think means I have to function on a new level, one that is foreign to me but has been terrifyingly easy to slip into. To be honest, I think I'm one of the lucky ones - I may not be considered a Digital Native due to my birth year, but I taught myself basic HTML and CSS before I could drive, so yeah. I'm glad I can still talk about Old Shit like cassette tapes and Blockbuster (RIP) but I have a iPhone and I can make my own ringtones.
Still, I've noticed that I no longer understand clothing found in the Young Whippersnapper's section. I tried to go shopping the other day, and it made me feel like an Old Fart. Srsly. The fuck is going on in that region of the store? Half of it is mysterious in the sense that you can't tell, by looking at it on the hanger, what part of the body it goes on. Is it a dress? Is it a hat? Why doesn't it have any holes for appendages? Why does it have too many holes for appendages? Why are my sunglasses more opaque than this shirt?
So, bundled up in my clothes from the Grown Woman Trying To Be Relative section (not quite the Frazzled Mom With No Self-Image section, mind you), I try to go out on the weekends and sadly come to the realisation that I can no longer tolerate the inebriated antics that I thoroughly enjoyed just a few short years ago. No joke, I am often longing for my bed around 2100 hrs. Sad. Sad days.
It's cool, though. I've never liked skirts without nylons, and now I can wear hose without having to make excuses for my fashion decisions. I enjoy wearing flats, and now I can wear them to bars without people assuming I've given up on being sexy. I can order whatever the hell drink I want to, because I no longer care about What You Think.
Time for me to go have a vodka cran while rocking a sweet cardigan and furry boots from 4 years ago, because OLD.
Posts
