The events of tomorrow very much necessitate the events of today.
I’m fucking old.
Tag Archives: aging
Colonial Times
The kids are writing historical fiction stories as part of our Colonial America unit.
Kid: “I named my character John McFly!”
Me: “Hmmm. Do you think John McFly is a good name for a character who lived in Colonial America? Does that make sense for that time period?”
Kid: “Well…not COLONIAL America, but in 1984.”
(Long silence)
Kid: “So…right after.”
It’s Like I Always Say– Nothing Good Happens After 9pm
Last night….
Fair. And true.
But this is exactly the kind of hazardous situation I find myself in when I linger in society past sundown– two young people were having a perfectly lovely first date and I interrupted it, arms flailing, screaming, “Little Michael?!?! Is that YOU?!?!?”
Zero chance he got laid after that.
I’m never leaving the couch again.
Sorry, Little Michael.
(For interrupting your date. And for calling you “Little Michael.” Last night and in this post. Also, sorry about this post).
Things That Scare the Shit Out of Me, Part 2
(Related to Things That Scare the Shit Out of Me )
Holy crap, guys. My life is the movie Groundhog Day.
Things That Scare the Shit Out of Me
According to Facebook, exactly 8 years ago to this day, I said the following:
I said the same fucking thing this morning.
#notgood
Not Better
Sitting here in the dermatologist waiting room, there is a teenage boy with severe acne, looking pretty sad.
I wanted to lean over to him and whisper, “Don’t worry, it gets better,” but then I remembered that I’m here to get my moles checked for cancer.
So it doesn’t really get better…it just gets…deadlier?
I’m going to stay quiet.
Old People PSA
Dear Old People,
You are no longer allowed to use self checkout.
Look, it’s not an ageist thing. It’s a me not wanting to be responsible for kicking you in the face thing. I have a hard enough time in society as it is– I don’t want to also have to explain to people why I went ahead and kicked an old lady in the face that one time. No one would understand. Unless they were here with me, right now, in this CVS, watching you take FIFTY YEARS to ring up ONE can of Fancy Feast cat food. (Of COURSE you have a cat. You are KILLING ME.)
So that’s it. No more self check out. K?
Great.
Oh Christ. Is that a checkbook?!
I hope those were two separate, unrelated thoughts
Kid, as I’m dropping him and the rest of the class off in the cafeteria: “Miss Emily, it smells like rotting meat in here. And you are 33 years old.”
Walks away.
New Rules for Social Survival in my 30s
I’m too old and tired for new friends. If I don’t know you, and I have to put even a modicum of effort into hitting it off with you, it’s simply not going to work.
So the new rule is this: if you’re a new person, you have 2 chances with my sense of humor. If you don’t get my sarcasm/I have to explain that I’m kidding more than twice, you’re out. I’m sorry. I’m just too exhausted.
But if I met you at any point before college graduation, you can still be one of those people who never gets it or knows when I’m fucking with you, and I’ll still love you, because, quite simply, you have put in your time. And you’re probably exhausted too.
So we’re good, Mom.
Tread Lightly, Part 2
(Continuation of Tread Lightly )
Guy (after I told him I’m 33): “Who cares? Age is just a number!”
Me: “I agree. Thank you for saying that.”
Guy: “Yeah, trust me. I’m studying to be a doctor. I see people die at ALL ages.”
Stop talking forever.
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