I spent all morning cleaning. Not the usual day-to-day picking up, but actual toilet bowl type cleaning that seems to take me at least 3 hours. Not to mention how sore I am from the 19 mile run I completed yesterday.
So, I am sitting here on my couch, watching daytime television. Jerry Springer just had someone speak into the microphone, a comely red headed little thing who then proceeds to lift her shirt and show us her goods. Goods are blurred out. Everyone in the audience cheers, and she sits back down looking victorious and oh so proud of herself.
I remember a time I watched Jerry Springer. Should I be embarrassed to admit to that? I was ten years younger. I loved the drama. It looks scripted but I never cared. You’d see chicks get wigs torn off their heads, or men go at it with fists pummeling each other. I was watching this dirty little show like a rubbernecker who has to check out a car accident on the road. You don’t want to see, but you want to see.
Not anymore. I think I’ve matured. I watch it now in annoyance and quickly change the channel, hoping for something better but there never is anything better, unless I want to watch infomercials or shows like The Chew. Now that I’ve turned the television off, I can start to reflect on the other aspects of my life I’ve moved past or the stuff I’m totally over. Like, for real, yo.
CARS WITH BASE: Or should that read, bass? I remember how cool it was to ride in someone’s car and have the bass turned up super high, your teeth rattling and shaking around in your head. Old people would glare at you, and you’d smile and laugh. That’s right, I’m damaging my ears and I don’t care! Only now I DO care, and it annoys me when people pull up next to me with their cars shaking, BOOM BOOM BOOMing. I think they are total losers who need to get a life and should find something better to do than to play music so loud they can’t even hear the words or the melody to the song.
MISMATCHED WARDROBE: I felt I took some risks when I was a kid. I remember being the first one to wear Chucks with a dress, and the girls in my school laughed at me. I later saw the look on the cover of my Sassy magazine; who’s laughing now, bitches? I got made fun of a lot for my choices, yet I will never, ever get the mismatched look. It just doesn’t look right to me. I get it, but I don’t get it.
BEING A SLAVE FOR FASHION:
Along the same lines as the mismatched thing, I remember a time I’d try to fit in and wear stiletto heeled shoes, or super short skirts, or clothing that would suck me in because I wanted to be the hottest girl at the club. I was never comfortable, I hated the way I looked, but I did it anyway because it was what you did. Never again. I won’t wear anything that makes me feel like crap, or shoes I can barely walk in. Why put yourself through that sort of torture?
MUSIC: I take comfort in knowing that most likely, if I were a teen right now I wouldn’t like Bieber. Or One Direction. Or Nicki Minaj. I listened to my fair share of New Kids in the Block. And Tiffany. But I keep justifying that it’s different. Two entirely different styles, right? RIGHT??? Now when I listen to certain songs from my past, I have to admit it’s more nostalgia that keeps me tuned in.
JUNK FOOD: I look back on those days fondly. I could eat an entire pizza. Out eat men at a buffet. Stuff hot wings, fries and beer down my throat like it was water. Now if I even look at overly spicy or greasy food, I get heartburn. I still partake in deep fried foods on occasion, but not nearly as often.
STAYING UP LATE: Like, until early morning hours, and then sleeping in really late so you don’t even know what morning is. Breakfast is at 3pm. Yeah, those days are long gone for me now, and if I do decide to stay up until let’s say, midnight I have hell to pay the next morning, when the kids are up bright and early and don’t care when you went to bed. Let’s be honest; I’m usually nodding off at 10pm anyway.
I’m sure there are more, but you get the idea. If getting older means I lose some cool points, so be it. At least I’ll be able to hear and my feet won’t have corns or bunions.
It’s all a trade-off, isn’t it?