Thursday, September 30, 2010

29: In Da Club

A few weekends ago, I hit the town with a good guy pal of mine.  He's the type of guy that's always good for a wild night out dancing, drinking, seeing and being seen.  He knows the cool spots, the cool people and you're always promised a fabulous time.

He also has a preference for girls in their EARLY 20's.

It's this love for all things young and stupid that motivated him to call me this particular Saturday night.  "Kate, a friend of mine is spinning tonight at Club XYZ..." (I don't even remember the name of the club... ) "..and we've go to be there.  Throw on some heels and lets go, I need a dancing partner!"

It started off a good night.  We walked past the line outside, right to the door and entered with ease. We got our drinks, we did a quick circle of the club to check out our prey/competition and then got to shakin' it on the dance floor.

We were on fire. I was hot. He was hot. People obviously wanted to either be us or be with us.

A few house mixes in, I got my swagger on and headed towards the restroom.  Business accomplished, I stepped up to the sink and checked my makeup in the mirror while I washed my hands. It was while my eyes moved from my heavily glossed lips to my strategically smudged eyeliner and up to my hair that it happened.

I saw it.

Right there. Glaring back at me. Pointing its nasty little metaphorical finger at me and silently screaming right into my shocked face, 'WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU OLD HAG?!?!?  WHEN DID SATURDAY NIGHT BECOME SENIORS' NIGHT AT THIS PLACE? WHO ARE YOU KIDDING, GRANDMA?"

A gray hair.

Just one. Sticking straight out of the top of my head.  I know. Horrifying.
Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit me. I was 29 years old (well, 28 at the time. But, damn it, I'm 29 now and holy crap, that sounds old!). In club years I think that made me, like, 63 years old or something.

As I glanced around at the other girls in the restroom, one adjusting her push-up bra, another discretely wiping some suspicious powder from her nose (just say NO to the nose candy, sister!), I came back to stare at my reflection in the mirror. 

Walking back out to the dance floor among the 21 year old girls, wobbling around in their too-high heels like Bambi first learning to walk, the list of things I was now too old to do started forming in my head.

Item #1: Sequins and Body Glitter.

Oh, the sadness. No sequins? No body glitter? But... but... but... how will I sparkle? How will I shine?

Item #2: Drinking on a Week Night

There was a time when energy was abundant.  The Man couldn't get me down.  It was Tuesday night? Lets do it up big! We're young! We're alive! Don't forget to dab on a little glitter! Let's gooooooooo! Carpe Diem and all that jazz!

But this is what Tuesday night looks like at 29 years old:

Item #3: Watching MTV

Wait! Hold on a second. Who am I kidding?  I love bad MTV... Jersey Shore?  Teen Mom?  Real World/Road Rules Challenge?!?!  Uh, YES, PLEASE!

Okay, so scratch that one... no one is ever too old for a little Snooki.

Item #4: Shopping at Obnoxious Retails Stores Like Abercrombie, Forever 21, Urban Outfitters or Hollister

I mean, seriously: WHY IS IT SO FUCKING LOUD!?!?!?!? And dark. And crowded? And how about some customer service over here? Gawd, kids these days... what is up with these G-Damn HIPSTERS!!! Why is the cool new style to look like you bought all your clothing at Goodwill.  Why does everyone dress and look as awkward as I did in my 3rd grade picture?

The list kept growing, but just as I started to lose hope and mourn the death of my youth, I realized there are some things we will NEVER out grow:

Like THEME PARTIES! White trash, 80's, wigs, ugly holiday sweaters... you suggest it, I've got the perfect outfit!

Or a little Mario Kart action.
Or walking into a bar with your girls and making sure you're the center of attention.
Or lip gloss.
Or singing along to 'Baby' by Justin Bieber... come on, it's a catchy tune! No judgements!!!
Or knowing yourself well enough to have confidence in your words, steps and person.
Or my dream to someday be Britney Spears!!!

*Deep Sigh*  With this new mental list of things I was still allowed to enjoy in my old age, I strutted back out on the dance floor and watched those younger girls, lacking adult confidence in themselves. They may still have a monopoly on the body glitter but they've yet to find out that underneath the fake sparkle, they're still awesome on their own.

So maybe it's not as bad as I'd feared.  You can still rock a lot of fun at 29... and maybe even sneak in a few well-placed sequins if you're lucky.

***UPDATE**** Just as I was getting ready to post this entry, my friend Katie emailed me. 
Subject Line: Is this too much for my Halloween Costume? 
Inside the email was the picture of Britney and Snake that I'd used in this blog.  This makes my heart happy for many reasons but mainly b/c it mixes three of the major loves of my life into one big, squishy ball of happiness - costumes, girlfriends and Britney Spears.  See?  Life at 29 is pretty good!  And Katie, I totally give you my blessing for Brit-Brit thisHalloween! ;)

Monday, September 27, 2010

Lip Gloss v. Dying Alone: The Epic Battle

One thing I've learned about living in the urban-hub of my city is this: Kitty Kat, there is NO time that heels and lip gloss are not REQUIRED BY LAW when out and about in this city.

They say the best revenge is living a good life... and while I'm not really some ice-pick wielding, bunny-boiling, voodoo doll enthusiast, it wouldn't hurt to run into your ex while you're rolling in your A-game. 

For instance, this is how I would have LIKED to have looked three weeks ago at my local grocery store when I ran into The Big Bad.
Instead, this is what I was rocking...Awesome.  Because, you know, nothing screams 'Look how much more fabulous I am since breaking up with you 2 years ago!!!' better than a frizzy pony tail and an economy size box of kitty litter, zucchini and moisturizing hand lotion.  Fantastic.

But beyond my little run-in with The Big Bad (which basically ended with my throwing myself under the check-out counter and army-crawling my way out the door), it's not the first time I've ran into someone at exactly the wrong time. 

And every time, this is like something I wish I were doing:

And this is the reality of what I'm really doing:

And after watching way too many episodes of 'What Not to Wear' (The WNTW Philosophy: sweat pants are of the devil and apparently wearing six inch heels and a binding mini-skirt to run up to the convenience store is 'just as easy' as throwing on a hoodie and running shoes. I can tell you, this statement is FALSE.) and reading way too many advice columns on snagging Mr. Right (OMG, did you know you can meet the perfect guy in the veggie aisle? Or Starbucks? Or the gym?), I have majorly freaked myself out.

Because, I don't know about you... but this is usually what I look like at the end of a workout at the gym...
And this is what my 'research' tells me I should look like...
Is it true? Do you always need to be at the top of your game? Throw on a cocktail dress to go buy some tampons? *sigh.  Well, I guess so, if you don't want to end up an old mumu wearing spinster, living with your 47 fuzzy babies. 


But am I willing to chance it and become this? 
I think not.

I better clutch it out and throw an extra tube of lip gloss in my purse.