Big, Bad 35

So I turn 35 tomorrow, an event that is giving me much angst and leading to people looking at me like I'm crazy when I articulate this.

Here's the thing.

When you're in your twenties, the teenage years aren't far behind you.  In fact, you can do a lot of the same things that characterized your adolescence.  The world is at your fingertips, so to speak, with the sky being the only limit ... or at least it seems that way when you're young and pretty and such.

And as you approach thirty, you realize the magic that permeates the adult world, how beautiful it is to see connections among and between people, places, things, and ideas.

By the time I was thirty, I knew without a doubt that I'd made a positive difference to a lot of people.  I had a sense of accomplishment that I took great pride in.

And when I'm forty, fifty, sixty ... well, I'll be even prouder of those accomplishments.  I'll be able to say with complete confidence that the world was a better place because I walked its roads.

I mean, I look forward to those days ...

So, yes, I am the odd duck that is perfectly okay with turning 40 ... but totally freaking out about turning 35.  Totally.

And then I realized that it's especially sad because it's a--let's face it--surface thing.  It's a youth thing.  An, "I don't want to look like an old lady", an "I'm going to have to get my eyebrows dyed as well as waxed at the salon now", an "I didn't get carded when I ordered a Captain and Coke Saturday night ... it's the first time I didn't get carded in ... well, pretty much ever" thing.

Wouldn't you think that, if you can take pride in your adult accomplishments and look forward happily to future endeavors, you could get over the fact that you're getting wrinkles and weight doesn't come off easily like it once did and so on?

Bottom line, I have to accept that the looks (such as they are ;-)), are leaving, that being funny and cute and peppy are no longer the things that'll get me through life.

After all, funny, cute, peppy forty- and fifty-year-olds are sort of perennial jokes ...

I know this is rambling and not concise and so on ... honestly, I'm about a second away from deleting it.  It'd be deleted already if I hadn't promised my friend Heather that I'd articulate the catalyst for my 35 freak-out.

Well, Heather, I attempted to articulate the catalyst.  All right, I failed, but the attempt was there ;-)

Any of my wise, articulate blog readers want to try to put the gist of what I mean into words?  The comments are all you, people :-)

E-mail Exchange Too Funny Not To Share ...

I apologize to my Facebook friends as I've already posted the really funny part of this on there, but I have been unable to stop laughing for about half an hour now ... and that kind of humor doesn't happen all that often, so I had to share.


My ex-husband is not able to drive himself anymore, so it  makes the visitation situation a little complicated.  Getting him to commit to a day, time, and place in writing is a new challenge, and he is evidently reluctant to do that.


He made a vague reference to brunch this Sunday, but I don't think a time window of less than eight in the morning until two in the afternoon is too much to ask for.  Anyway, my desire to be able to plan out Belle and Addie's weekend led to this exchange that is truly too absurd to be made up.


E-mail from Me:
Hi Pythagorus,


Just checking to see if you have a time/place in mind for Sunday yet.  Please let me know when you do.


Thanks,
:-) Katie


E-mail response from Pythagorus:
Hi:


Name of the Restaurant in City of Restaurant at 9 am EST.


Pythagorus


E-mail I considered responding with (but ultimately decided not to ... like I keep saying, that high road's a tough trek sometimes ...):
Hi Pythagorus,


So I'll see you at 6:00 a.m. PDT, 8:00 p.m. ITC (in case I take a jaunt to Bangkok), 4:00 p.m. EAT (or Somalia), 5:30 p.m. AFT (perhaps Afghanistan), 7:00 a.m. CST (Nicaragua), or 3:00 pm CEST (Paris).


Bye--uh, Sawatdi...uh, Nabad gelyo...uh, De kuday pa aman...uh, Adiós...uh, Au revoir,
:-) Katie


I guess it shows how ridiculous this whole situation has gotten ... but at least I'm laughing and not crying now :-)


And I'm glad I, at least, was able to keep my immaturity in check (well, mostly ... I'm getting it out here), because this isn't about Pythagorus and it isn't about me ... it's about Belle.


I wish that he could see that ...

Unsent

In 1998, Alanis Morissette released the album Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. It was no Jagged Little Pill, to say the least, but I was reminded of the song "Unsent" the other day. As the title suggests, it's a bunch of letters that she never sent. I never really got the concept ... I mean, if you want to send a letter to someone, just send the darn thing, right?

I understand very well now about wanting desperately to send a letter to someone yet knowing that it's not the right thing to do.

And I'm not going to be all, "You have a small penis and are crappy in bed and are an irresponsible, emotionally manipulative liar" because that would just be juvenile, plus it was not the state of mind in which I composed my "unsent letter" in my mind.

Anyway, here we go ...

Dear Rivershitter (that's an affectionate nickname),

I thought of you today for the first time in awhile. I don't miss you, exactly, but this made me realize how much less I laugh now. You were way deep inside my head, deeper than is healthy, but, man, was it great to have somebody around who found life to be as funny as I do.

Remember the crazy cashier that freaked the fuck out when we tried to give him a twenty and seven cents to pay for a $15.93 purchase so we'd get a five back instead of a bunch of ones and a handful of change (I'm off on my denominations and naturally off on my math, but I know you remember)?

Well, I met his twin brother the other night. Well, brother in spirit, anyway.

I'm at the gas station looking for Excedrin Migraine, and it's behind the counter with the girlie magazines and cigarettes and the freaking Sudafed (because we want no meth labs ... NO METH LABS). I say to the guy, "Could I get a pack of Excedrin Migraine, please?", and he reaches back and grabs a thing of Advil. "No, Excedrin Migraine," I repeat, and he comes up with Tylenol Cold and Flu this time.

I've got a pretty bad headache and just want to get rid of it, so I go around the counter and point at the Excedrin Migraine.

And the guy? He freaks the fuck out. He yells, "You can't come back here, ma'am! If you take one step closer, I'll have to press the button. I mean it ... my foot's on it!"

And I wished with all my heart for that one second that you were there with me, because we would have been peeing our pants we'd be laughing so hard. And, of course, we would have had so much fun just tormenting the guy (although there's little doubt in my mind that "the button" would have been pressed and there would have been police there, and that would not have been good).

Anyway, I backed up, put my hands up, and said, "Never mind, I'll go to Rite Aid," and thought of you for awhile and laughed a lot and got my Excedrin Migraine at the drugstore and wished for just a second that I could tell you that story or that you could have lived it ... it was one for the books, let me tell you.

The logical side of my brain says, "See, it's good you don't hang with him anymore because you would have ended up arrested ... or at the very least further emotionally damaged" ... but, God, I miss laughing sometimes.

:-) KL

The Smith Delay

A running joke in one of my classes involves a certain student, Jennifer Smith (*obviously not her real name ... I mean, I use blog pseudonyms for everyone, but just wanted to make clear that I am especially sure to do so when referring to one of my students*).

Jennifer is a great kid, really funny and super-sweet. She is also quite intelligent ... but this is bogged down in what the class now refers to with the utmost affection as "The Smith Delay". To wit:

Student #1: How do you make a tissue dance?

Student #2: You put a little boogie in it.

(Uproarious laughter from the masses ... except for Jennifer)

Jennifer: I don't get it. What's so funny? I don't get it ...

Ms. L: Well, moving on ... Journalism didn't spread in America until just before the American Revolution because there was no real need for it. Newspapers were shipped regularly from England, and--

Jennifer: (Laughs uproariously) Haha, you put a little boogie in it. That's too funny. Haha!!!!!!!!!

Entire Class: The Smith Delay strikes again.

I mean, this happens every day. Well, not that we regularly tell elementary school jokes in class, but you get what I mean. It is just the funniest thing ever. And confession time, I did something really mean today. Jennifer's sister, Emily, came in to ask Jennifer to send a text to their mother at the end of the day. I just couldn't resist ...

Ms. L: Hey, Emily, do you have The Smith Delay?

Emily: (With a confused look on her face) Hunh?

(Entire class laughs uproariously)

Jennifer: That's The Smith Delay.

Emily: I don't get it.

Ms. L: Don't worry, you will in three minutes.

I LOVE MY JOB :-)!!!!!!!!!!!