This morning I woke up and it hit me like a plastic grocery bag full of moldy P.E. clothes: Only 16 days until I am 29. 16 motherfucking 24 hour days, people! Do you hear me? I'm damn near hysterical up in here. Now, I'm not fishing for the obligatory "You're not old" comments. In fact, I'll completely ignore any and all comments that are made about my age. I know very well some of you think I'm a spring chicken. I JUST remember damn well when I was 16 and 29 seemed so...grown up. I don't feel grown up. I feel...23, maybe. I don't have any kids. I haven't had anything resembling a career (I was going to be sarcastic and say that stint as a... doesn't count, but I haven't even had a stint!) . If I were living alone? As in unmarried? I'd be homeless. My last paycheck was for $84.00. I don't own any real estate. I don't have a car. WE have a car, but it ain't mine! Amazingly, thinking about stuff like this used to send me into a house cleaning panic. Anybody who knows me knows that this is the PANIC of all PANICS. When I clean to calm my mind. Life as a "SPOUSE/OTHER" throws you (and by you, I mean ME) into a bizarre state of limbo. Are we moving? Where will we go next? How long? Are there jobs for me there? It is bizarre. I am self-sufficient, educated, and independent. Yet here I am, spending hours in my STEVE MADDENS (because they bring the funk) smelling the produce and squeezing the Charmin. What the hell has happened here? Am I, dare I say it, domesticated? I mean, I still don't do windows, laundry, cooking, or...anything except lounge, so basically, I have become the worst sort of air force wife: the lazy kind whose ass threatens to absorb anything that comes within a 100 mile radius. And I'm the opinionated kind, too, which makes it a double whammy.
Okay, okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. I'm waiting to hear on a job. And I'll run the dryer if the clothes start smelling a little rancid. I can also run the microwave. I just thought 29 would be more established less ???? more business class less roach coach. I am amazingly calm for being NOWWHERE NEAR where I wanted to be. I, boys and girls, am the poster child for WHY you should not take the "scenic route" through college. I used to joke about being an excellent procrastinator...well looka here, damn this side of 30 looks like it's running out pretty fast. I guess what I am discovering, really, is that 30 is still frighteningly young. I mean DEMI MOORE is 40 for fuck's sake! I would consider myself amazingly fortunate to look like that at any age. Which would probably take a trainer. And self-control, both of which, I have NONE. I like to eat the food, and I like to drink the wine. My guilty pleasure today? I bought jalapeno stuffed olives. If DH didn't have a soccer game tonight, you can damn well bet that I'd polish off the jar in front of the computer, head bumpin' to some Black-Eyed Peas, who I find refreshingly FRESH. They rap! In tagalog! Being the quarter flip that I am, I was astounded by their trilingualicity. They have not one, but three languages in their music! Poor DH. He can't think of anything to buy me. Look how easily amused I am! He could probably buy me a magnet and I'd occupy myself for days. I mean hell, look at this post! I don't have a DAMN thing to write. Yet, I ramble incessantly. Now ain't that a bitch? Hunh.