I'm getting old. And I really don't like it.
Oh, you think I'm kidding? HAH. Let me elaborate for you. Because for my money? Fuck this shit.
#1. I went to dinner with an old store planning friend on Friday. To Red Lobster.
Let me tell you about Red Lobster... I FUCKING LOVE Red Lobster. Just in case you were wondering. I do. I LOVE it. They have amazing salads (hah, yeah, right, that's why I love it.) and awesome steaks and friggin' amazing Seafood Stuffed Flounder. Yeah. And beer. They have Beer. Good Beer. In kinda small glasses, which is depressing...
This woman didn't card me for my beer! She didn't card me, at all! NOT AT ALL!
Before I lose my shit, let me explain. My buddy got carded. He's like, 30, or something. He doesn't look younger than me. No offense, doll, but you don't. I don't think? I'm 25. Twenty fucking five. I did not get carded. HE did. All I can assume is that I must be getting old. I am not a fan of this shit. I enjoy being the only one at the fucking table that gets carded. It's been that way for 4 years now, can we NOT change it please?
J says he thinks it's because the old lady was hitting on me. I say he's a perverted fucktard.
#2. The man at Applebee's didn't card me, either. There used to be a time when I got carded. A lot. For cigarettes, even. Fuckers. I think some guys used to stare at my ID a little longer than was necessary, and I would be sure to close all the shades that night, because no way were they going to be peeking in my windows. But now I don't worry about that. It's the wrong address on there, HAH. You'll be seeing someone's ass, but not mine! And I don't worry about it because no one cards me anymore. Bastards.
#3. I'm getting a mind filter. #*%*&%*&^@@&^(*W$ <That was my brain beating itself against the computer keyboard.
A filter? For a person like me, there is no greater death knell than the one that rings with the coming of a mind filter. In my case, it's really more like a mind O2 sensor, since it always kicks in AFTER I've already said something, and just kind of pokes me and says, 'You know, maybe that sounded a bit harsh.' You know, it reports back that maybe something isn't quite right in the ol' engine.
I'm REALLY getting old because I start listening to that inner O2 sensor and feeling bad about being an asshole! I FEEL BAD! How is that even possible? I NEVER feel bad for being an asshole. I take great pride in being THE asshole in a group.
If I become less funny because of this stupid mind filter, I'm stabbing myself in the brain with a Q-tip or a screwdriver, not totally decided yet.
#4. I no longer feel the need, nor the desire, to drink every second. Of every day. Of every week. Of every month. In FACT, I don't.
DO YOU KNOW HOW THIS KILLS ME INSIDE? I am German. Irish. Swedish. And everything else. I LIKE BEER. I LOVE ALCOHOL. But I really don't have the urge to get totally faced as often as I get the urge to have a glass of wine, or a solitary beer.
You people know me. You get me. Beer? A solitary beer? Who does that? What if that beer gets lonely in your tummy? You NEED to drink more than one. So why am I okay with drinking only one? UGH.
I feel like a let down to my drunk friends who have supported me in my drunken adventures and have seen me through some really wonderful shit-show moments. Don't give up on me, guys. Please, pull me back from the ledge! SAVE ME FROM SOBRIETY!
#5. I dress for the weather. (AM I FUCKING 90?)
I look outside, and I think, damn, I'm not wearing heels tonight... I'll fall and bust my shit WIDE open. No, no. Not this girl.
4 years ago, I wore heels in the middle of an ice storm, because they made my ass look fantastic. I mean, FAN-fucking-TASTIC.
*****Side note to this: On this night, my car slid into an embankment, and got stuck on a snow drift, and I had to walk home, UPHILL, seriously, UP fucking HILL, barefoot, on ice, because those fucking heels would NOT allow me to remain upright and not busting my kneecaps on the ice as I slid and fell all over. Yeah... AND I peed in a neighbors yard because it was freezing outside, and I didn't know how close I was to home, and I REALLY had to go, and it was 4AM. Don't fucking judge me. If you're going to judge me, judge me for drawing a toilet in the snow, and THEN peeing. Because that says classy all over it. I was 21, okay? Sometimes, we do things that we aren't proud of. That isn't one of them. I'm damn proud of the toilet thing.
#6. You know I date people based on future compatibility and I don't even check a guy out if he's wearing a wedding ring? SERIOUSLY. That's me. Whatever happened to dating because the guy was totally adorable, but frankly, it's NOT going anywhere that you would tell your parents about?
Don't give me that look. We've ALL dated that guy/girl that was the perfect date... Sexy, cute, looks GREAT in those jeans... But then they open their mouth and you want to shoot them in the eyeballs. When did I lose the enjoyment in that?
I used to date guys whose sole purpose was to sit on that barstool and look fuckign sexy in that football jersey, while I actually understood the game and what was happening. You know now it's a requirement that anyone I date actually watches WITH ME? And understands the game? I mean, they don't have to like the same team as me, but it certainly helps your cause. I'm friends with people from all walks of NFL life. I don't broadcast it, but it's true.
**If you're a Cowboys fan though, I do have to question your drug-test history. Not judging, just pointing out that it raises some questions.
Now I date guys who are fairly intelligent, and usually have some form of stability in life. Usually they get bonus points if they're parents already, because it usually means they won't expect anymore vag-monsters from me. This vag-monster laboratory is done and over with, folks. Poor guys. I do make beautiful babies. So in that, I feel like I'm keeping something wonderful from the world. Oh, well. They can't have everything.
SO, in combat of such an atrocity... I am planning a major life overhaul. I'll elaborate in a future blog, mainly because this one is too long already, and I probably lost half of you midway through it. All I can say is that I am sooooo not going to be THAT kid. I have NO desire to be old at 25. Next thing you know, it's Mr. Rogers sweaters and straight hot cocoa, and mini-vans and Disney singalongs. And the fact that I already do Disney singalongs and have contemplated a mini-van is bad enough.
You bastards better save me from myself.
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