Hey internet. It’s the eve before I leave on my Christmas vacation and I am quite literally sitting in the car in the cold deciding whether I should be responsible and go to bed or go back to my boyfriend’s concert (my boyfriend being Captain Apollo. Keep up.)
On the one hand I get an extra two hours or so of sleep before work and a three hour drive to Christmasland. On the other hand, concert and Captain.
I went in telling myself I was going to be in bed by 12. And now, of course, it’s 11:30 and I want to stay, because, hey, I put pants on for this.
I’m seriously torn. It would be so easy for me to go back inside and have a fun night. Buttt I know the responsible choice is going home and going to bed. Also I’m already in the car, which is half the battle.
Is this my sneak preview of being 24? I don’t like it.
Incidentally, my car smells like goat cheese and the less time I have to spend in it, the better. Long story.
Goodness internet, what do I do? I’m so indecisive.
I picked bed. Frankly, if I hadn’t suddenly had the epiphany that I needed to post a blog and got out to the car to get my phone, I would have stayed, probably. However, the almost indecent level of pleasure I’m getting from lying in bed right now is letting me know I make the right choice.
Decisions (even the stupid ones) are hard. And apparently a constant reminder of how frakin’ old I’m getting.
I actually have a little money left over in the bank this month internet, which means that it’s time to start buying Christmas presents.
Because, as I learned the hard way last year, waiting until the last minute and buying everyone something at one time is a really great way to be totally broke.
So a few days ago, I started looking around for something for my two baby cousins, when I realized that my two baby cousins aren’t exactly babies anymore. Actually, they’re 8 and 10, rapidly approaching 9 and 11, and they’re starting to develop, like, thought processes.
Y’know, beyond whoa, I love hot chocolate and hey Dora, the bridge is right behind you, moron.
I’ve driven past the local high school more then once over the past year, and have noticed that the kids (okay, young adults) seem to be wearing and doing things I don’t recognize. That’s one thing. But when your aunt tells you your ten-year-old cousin just acquired an iPod Touch and does face-time with her friends to solve homework problems, or that your eight-year-old cousin wears ties and fedoras to school, you apparently feel a whole different level of old.
Then of course you realize that your own Christmas list includes words like casserole dish and work clothes and really nice duvet and oh my god you better get in the car and go buy some arthritis medication because apparently you’re eighty.
Side note – what are Lego Friends? Also, are fedoras cool again?
I thought we already lived through that once.
Hey girl heyyyyyyyy.
No, you’re right, never again.
I’m so sorry.
Hey internet. Mamma Mia and I are returning from a successful shopping trip in place-that-is-two-hours-north-of-where-I-live. There is approximately no shopping to be had in where-I-live, so a trip to pick up a few things is always an ordeal.
Yet again, internet, life has offered me another opportunity to examine exactly how fucking old I’m getting.
Pretty damn old. Maybe not physically, but certainly mentally .
It seems my taste in clothes, makeup, and home decor has changed dramatically over the past few years. I may in fact be 80.
Mi madre and I went into Pottery Barn. I used to despise Pottery Barn, because furniture is boring. Today, however, I found myself fervently disagreeing with mother dearest about the particular faults and merits of such and such dining room tables, and remarking upon the shininess of a large and utterly useless vase.
Ah, but surely I bought young, fun things after my brief foray into boring world?
Sadly, I did not buy one young, fun thing. I bought a black pair of slacks, two business casual pencil skirts (less of the casual) and two silk blouses. Both black and white and not particularly fun.
Trying to salvage the situation, I dragged Maman through Forever 21… and right back out the other side. I’m all for a nice backless faux chiffon pastel pink collared tank top, but honestly does it have to have a picture of a rhinestoned Grumpy Cat on it?
I spent about three minutes freaking out about a doorknob that I found attractive itstead of even going to Zumiez.
I then went to Sephora and bought cheek stain and a very modest champagne colored eyeshadow. Me. The girl with Kat Von Dee perfume and fifty shades of nail polish. I bought probably the most boring products in Sephora aside from shampoo. Even my mum bought mascara.
Who am I??