Aug 1, 2008

A Midwestern Death

Photo: Meet my coffin.










It's like I've become an adult overnight; I don't understand it, and I'm certainly not a fan. This past week has been a doozy--not my Best Week Ever, but not the Worst, either. I caught myself uttering key phrases that only my mother would appreciate, and here is a sampling:

"I can't wait for my health insurance to kick in."
"Swimming is going to be so good for us."
"I should just chop off all of my hair so I can wash and go."
"He's 23, just a kid--he has plenty of time to figure out the rest of his life."
"I need a nap."
"Diet soda is so bad for you."
"We're going to our first fundraiser!"
"I don't have time for his immaturity right now."
"I'm too old for this."

"This" was a video game that my 9-year old could play, but asking me to understand it was like asking me to lose 20 pounds at The Cheesecake Factory. Health insurance, napping, short hair, exercise, friendship boundaries, and giving money to charity? For whom the bell tolls, indeed; for me, that's who. Can't you hear it? It's the sound of my youth being sucked out of me like the liposuction I so desperately crave. Next thing you know, I'll be putting fiber on my food, even though I don't really know what it is. At some point, later on in life, your once-normal pile of shit becomes unrecognizable 'stool', and I think fiber is the reason. And that's reason enough to avoid it.

Health insurance has gone from being an uninteresting non-entity to a serious must-have in about eight seconds; I never cared about it until it vanished. Putting on a bathing suit doesn't end in suicide now, because it's not about how cute I look or what designer made it; it's about whether or not it fits. Twentysomethings seem really young and dumb to me, which is probably pretty strange for my twentysomething boyfriend. And I have one anonymous friend whose immaturity and petty game-playing is getting as old as he is; too bad we're in such close proximity, otherwise I would cut him out completely. I can't tell if that's immaturity on my part, or if I'm just getting clarity on what a real friend looks like--it feels more like the latter. And napping? That's something my grandma does. She also chopped her hair off in an effort to 'keep things simple', swims for physical therapy, and also thinks diet soda is bad for you. I have turned into my grandmother. I will never be cool or tall again, especially since I only wear flat shoes now; heels are basically dead to me. *sob*

When I was in Portland, I realized that my friends--me included, though they put me to shame--are turning into Those Women. We like eating out, watching chick flicks, and talking about babies; the conception, care and maintenance of babies, birthing options, getting the baby weight off, sleep schedules, siblings for babies, shopping for babies, problems with babies, baby bags and sippy cups and videos and literature and horror stories and adoption stories and cannibalism and... well now I'm just making things up, but you get the idea. And while some of it bored me to tears, I also had my own baby stories to contribute--it felt like a natural progression, really. We used to talk about men, and then we found a few good ones; we used to discuss finances, but we're all doing okay now; we used to talk about what we wanted to do when we grew up, and then we grew up. Now everyone has young kids (with one in the process of trying), and that's the new topic. The only difference between us and other mommy groups is that we say the word 'mother' as much as the word 'motherfucker', which actually puts me at ease. We haven't completely given up on our rebel-rousing, even if we're just rousing ourselves in a nice home located in a nice neighborhood in Portland. Well, at the very least, I haven't given up. I need my F-bombs like I need air to breathe and babies to eat; without them, I'm just another girl in her thirties, obsessed with aging and procreation.

I also got a promotion and a raise yesterday, which is something an adult receives, right after they finish college, meet their mate, get married, have kids, and work their tails off. Or, in my case, drop out of college, have a kid, get married, get divorced, and float around professionally. I'm such a fucking role model! I guess the only thing left to do is buy a Winnebago and perish in the Midwest. Sounds appealing.

10 comments:

Manthony said...

That does it. I'm getting you some Metamucil immediately! Talk about changing your life...

LilRed said...

SURE, it bored you. Who VOLUNTARILY decided to stay back with the baby while the rest of us went shopping? :)

The day I realized I was old was when I no longer cared if my bra and underwear matched.

Congrats on the raise AND promotion!!! You deserve it, you really are the best at what you do (even if you are sick of doing it).

Love you, and don't forget to come down for an all-expenses paid R&R trip when you need it!

Snotty McSnotterson said...

Don't you mean, who stayed home with the adorable perfect baby while you guys were out TALKING about her and all of the babies y'all can't wait to have?

I can't wait to come back down--you and your unmatching underwear rock.

FreNeTic said...

This is exactly why I'm building a deck. After all those expected things you're supposed to look forward to in life run out, you just putter about on value-driven projects.

Snotty McSnotterson said...

Well, YOU DO. I keep waiting to be asked to putter about on some DIY projects, but NOOOOO. Mr. Isolation!

WenigGluckliches said...

I guarantee that no crack whores on our busses will kick you in the back. Come on over!

Anonymous said...

i say we all move to canada and grow potatoes and blueberries, it's a great market and i want a farm and a tractor!---jenny

Matt said...

FYI: Iowa is prettier than Kansas, has political relevence and lacks the stigma of "Wizard of Oz" red-state-ness (it has a different kind of RSness). And it was the first state to officially state "Obama for president." At least as far as the media is concerned...

A silver--well, aluminum foil, at least--lining for your cloud of impending Winnebago doom. :)

Michelle Auer said...

You will always be younger than me! ;-) My daughter's 18 year old brother is coming to stay with us in two weeks, the fact he is 18 is making me feel 100! (It doesn't help that I just had ANOTHER birthday as well.)

Snotty McSnotterson said...

I will always be younger, but you will always be more stylish. :) It evens out.

All teenagers make me feel old, or vengeful.