A look back as the countdown looms

I am 34 years old. I can only say that for six more days. If anyone tries to say I’m 35 before next Tuesday I will kick him in the shins. Last week Lee said something about how my 36th birthday was coming up. I beat him for it.

The same day my mom sent me a text and said, “Hey, wouldn’t it be fun to do a big spa trip when you turn 40 and I turn 65?” There were a few things wrong with that text – first, I AM ONLY 34! Can we not discuss 40 yet?

Please?

 

Also, I will only be 38 when she turns 65! *throws hands up in exasperation*

So, yeah. I’m about to officially be in my mid-thirties. An argument could probably be made for the fact that 34 is technically already the mid-thirties, but that’s not a conversation any of us need to have at this point. Because I don’t want to talk about it.

Crystal clear?

Now I can say there are some perks to aging, one of them being the benefit of laughing at pictures of yourself in years past. Enough time has gone by now for old pictures of me to be wildly hysterical, mainly because I grew up in the ’80’s and, you know…it was the ’80’s. So to commemorate me getting old(er), here are a few pictures from ages past and bygone styles.

You’re welcome.

 

1985: The partial mullet.

1985: The partial mullet.

 

3rd

1986: The Very Loud Button-Down

 

1987: Denim on Denim and feathered bangs.

1987: Denim on Denim and feathered bangs.

1988: Units belt, High tops with layered socks, Esprit Bag, Side Ponytail. I was ROCKING 5th grade.

 

1989: I discovered the crimping iron. Thank you, '80's, for so many wonderful and lasting styles.

1989: I discovered the crimping iron. Oh yes I did…

 

I blame this photo on a number of things: My parents, Jazz Dance and the '80's.

I blame this photo on a number of things: My parents, Jazz Dance and the ’80’s.

 

1991-ish with remnants of the '80's clinging on.

1991-ish with remnants of the ’80’s clinging on.

 

1991: The year of the Coolats, AKA 7th Grade, AKA The year I grew into my nose...

1992: The year of the Coolats (sp?), AKA 7th Grade, AKA The year I grew into my nose…

 

1995: Calming down a bit in the fashion department. Thankfully for all of us I couldn't find any pictures from 9th, which was a particularly tragic year of fashion for me. Think Sun-In meets short shorts meets way too much make up.

1995: Calming down a bit in the fashion department. Thankfully for all of us I couldn’t find any pictures from 9th grade, which was a particularly tragic year of fashion for me. Think Sun-In meets short shorts meets way too much make up.

I’m also missing several pictures that document those years when I fondly (read: obsessively) wore over-sized flannel shirts. I also had a deep love for overalls my senior year of high school, but then we all did. Don’t act like you didn’t wear them, too…

1999: Rocking the short overalls and a hottie on my arm.

1999: Rocking the short overalls and a hottie on my arm.

 

And, of course, there were about 6 years there when I wore babies. I actually miss those years...

And, of course, there were about 6 years there when I wore babies. I actually miss those years…

 

My current fashion of choice is yoga pants. I’m kind of kidding and kind of serious. I really love yoga pants. But I don’t want to get completely lost in the hole of my mid-thirties so I try to lose the yoga pants whenever possible and upgrade to something super fashionable…like a skort. And if I’m feeling particularly ambitious, I might even put on a pair of skinny jeans.

But then I spend the day feeling like I’m slowly suffocating to death.

My kids are going to have a field day making fun of me some day…

Here’s to many more years of fashion, both good and bad.

Deep and Funny

A Party Pic Circa 1996. I lifted this off Facebook, so it was already out for the masses to see and laugh at. Good times.

You know when you want to write something really deep and poignant and you feel like it’s all just right beneath the surface, but for some reason you can’t dig it out of your brain because you’re bone tired and you can’t seem to string a coherent thought together other than, “Geez I’m glad Facebook wasn’t around when I was in high school“?

Yeah…that’s super fun.

OR…

You know when you decide to scratch the idea of being super deep and poignant and you decide to write something that’s wickedly funny, that’s sure to make people laugh until they cry and share until it goes viral, but you realize that you can’t dig any humor out because you’re bone tired and all you can think about is how much you would have embarrassed yourself if Facebook had been around in high school?

That’s swell.

Then remember that time when you used the word “swell” while writing a hypothetical post and you began to wonder whether or not you could incorporated the words “rad,” “groovy,” and “righteous” into the same sentence without being too obvious that you were just trying to complete an exercise in writing through writer’s block?

That rules.

Remember that time when you realized the movie Reality Bites is coming up on its 18th anniversary and you remember watching it when it first came out on VHS?

Um…that kinda bites.

You know how sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all, but you feel compelled to say something because if you say nothing people might think you have nothing to say, when really you have tons to say but you’re just tired so you just start typing nonsense thinking that something really deep or really funny, (or maybe something deeply funny?) will spill forth from your fingertips but then you realize that you’re pumping a dry well and the best thing to do is shut up and go to sleep?

That’s good advice. Shut up. We don’t say that word in our house. Unless you mean it and it’s necessary.

I’m kidding.

As far as you know, anyway.

Remember that time you scoured the internet looking for some bit of current news you could use as a launch pad for a post, but instead of reading up on the important matters of the world, you got sucked into celebrity gossip and before you knew it you were yelling at the computer, infuriated by yet another celebrity couple telling the world, “we just grew apart” and you wanted to hulk smash something because you’re tired of marriage being so quickly cast aside?

And then you stumbled over this video that caused you to forget all about the selfish celebrities of the world and instead crumble into a puddle of tears and long to adopt a baby or four from every single country in the world?

This then leads you down memory lane to the day you called your husband sobbing after watching Oprah one afternoon and her coverage of the underground slave trade of young girls in Romania. “We need to go to Romania today and bring home three or four little girls,” you cried. Then your husband asked you not to watch Oprah anymore.

Remember that? That was super.

This is all hypothetical, of course. Merely conjecture. I clearly need to go to bed. Or drink a glass of wine. Or both.

Of course, if any of this were true and did happen to actually spin through my mind, I would tell you that I came up with more than one Status Update circa 1996. And I may have developed a few from 1995, 1994 and 1993, too. I said MAY.

STATUS UPDATE: Last night’s episode of ER was the bomb. Dr. Ross is sooooo hot. (Maybe I would have spelled it hott?)

STATUS UPDATE: Today was, like, so lame. Someone played “I Like It, I Love It” on the cafeteria juke box like 52 times. Ick. Hate that song.

STATUS UPDATE: I hit a parked car at the Homecoming football game tonight. OMG. I’m gonna die of embarrassment. #imadope

STATUS UPDATE: Tonight at the dance the DJ played “Shake Your Rump!” and “Ice, Ice Baby.” #bestsongsever

STATUS UPDATE: OMG! Like, I totally made Hockey Cheerleading today. #wickedawesome

STATUS UPDATE: Wait…why do hockey players need cheerleaders? Can they even hear us behind that glass? #confused

STATUS UPDATE: Reality totally bites. And Winona Ryder is, like, the coolest girl ever.

So tell me, my friends, what would your high school self’s Facebook Status say? We’d all love to know.