For a long time, I refused to believe I was getting any older. People say teenagers act like they're invincible - I think they just haven't met me.

The last few weeks have been a slap in the face. I think I was reading Joelle's recent post about going to bed early as an indicator of declining youth and I thought, "Shit. I do that." Slumbering excessively early? Check.

I really started to put it all together when I put on a cleavage excessive shirt apres hair cut. Now, if you're a woman, you'll know that there are certain bras that you wear with certain shirts. If you're a man, let me explain: Depending on the shirt cut and style, you need different amounts of coverage and support. This shirt is low dipping, so up until this point I have chosen low coverage and low support. Small boobs are perky when they're young. This is okay. Pulling the shirt on, I noticed something very...disturbing. My once young female described "disgustingly perky boobs" looked like bananas. Indeed. Looking in the mirror, I was horrified. Daylight come and me wan' go home.

Unexpectedly sagging body parts? Check.

The final straw came today, as dh and I were watching movies. Yesterday, we tried to watch "Team America", a supposedly hilarious movie that many of my friends have sung endless praises about. Me? I fell asleep while the puppets were exhausting the numerous sexual positions. Oblivous to recent pop culture references? Check. However. HOW! EVER! I was riveted by this movie:

Can y'all believe it? Seduced by Seu George's Portugese renditions of "Rebel Rebel" and "Rock N' Roll Suicide". Taken in by the quirkiness of the imagined sea creatures. Maybe it was Owen Wilson's fake Kentucky accent. Call it what you will. Irregardless, after the movie ended, I knew that I loved it. And as I realized that I would love to sit and watch this with my dad and mom and discuss (discuss!) the significance of the seemingly unbelieveable Jaguar Shark, I also knew that I was going straight past Spring Chicken. Do Not Pass GO. Affinity for quirky movies? Check.

Send me some bran in the next care package, will ya? Meanwhile, I have to go pull out the *ancient* T'Pau tape from 8th grade. And buy some new bras.