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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! ;)

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. 

Geez.

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.

Satan's Puppies

I hate fish. Like really hate fish. It hasn't always been this way. At some point in my childhood, I'm sure I had a little goldfish that I loved for the full 12 days I remembered to feed it and it lived. But we've all had those moments that changed our lives forever. And this is the story of one of those moments.

In high school I was selected to work with at-risk, inner-city youth as a summer camp counselor for the D.A.R.E. program. I was stoked! Silly songs, obnoxiously cheerful clapping and cheesy ice-breaker games? This was right up my alley.

Little did I know, three days into the summer this ooey-gooey happiness would be replaced with torment and fear. Fishing was on the day's agenda.

I pulled out my pole, grabbed the nearest trash-talkin', saggy pants wearin', rappin', bad ass little mother fuckin' kid I could find and headed out to the dock.

Being a consistently fished area of the lake, the fish knew what was up and immediately approached the dock. Hundreds swarmed, rubbing their scaly little fishy bodies all over one another, water splashing, little mouths opening for the anticipated dinner and their black, soulless eyes looking right at me.

It started out innocently enough. We cast our line and waited for a fish to take the bait. Funny thing is, inner-city kids apparently don't do much fishing and, much to my ultimate demise, have a short attention span.

Suddenly and without warning, the miniature thug pushed me over the railing and into the water.

Only... I didn't... hit... water. I hit fish. A solid platform of fish.

Four seconds later, I hit water. The fish went nuts - slapping me in the face with their tails, cutting me with their fins, giving me little fishy bites on my arms. It was, hands down, the most terrifying moment of my life. And I've been mugged in downtown KC.

Finally hearing the commotion, the D.A.R.E. police officers in charge came to my rescue and pulled me out. But the damage was done.

This event took place 12 years ago but to this day, fish are one of the things that terrify me the most. More than spiders, more than snakes, more than zombies. Even the thought of fish makes me shudder. It's ruined me - I'll never snorkel. I'll never enjoy a leisurely day fishing with my dad. I'll never be the next breakout star on 'Deadliest Catch'. I'm ruined.

No salmon dinner at a fancy restaurant.

I panic in my dentist's office when I see her tiny little goldfish tank in the waiting room.

God help me if I walk into a Japanese Steakhouse with a giant coy tank in the entry way.

(*Note: I don't know Japanese... I just doodled some stuff that looked like Japanese writing to me. So if you know Japanese and I just said something about your mom, I'm sorry. Total accident.)

I run screaming when my 10 year old brother approaches me with bait to fish while my family is down at the lake.

And don't even get me started on Shark Week.

Yes, some hungry fish and one little wanna-be gang banger have changed my life forver. And I'll never be the same.

Drunken Pet Selection: FAIL

On my 21st birthday, my best friend Allie helped me celebrate. Well, by 'celebrate' I mean she followed me through the streets of our college town and made sure I didn't get arrested.


By the time she convinced me to go home, I certainly wasn't ready to call it a night... I mean, it was only like 1 pm in the afternoon...

So I convinced her to let me hang out in our backyard for the afternoon and continue celebrating the big 2-1. While I wondered aimlessly around the perimeter of our fenced in back yard and Allie watched from the patio to make sure I didn't escape, I stumbled upon a little furry creature's tail sticking out of a discarded doughnut bag on the ground.
I was... amazed...

Suddenly, I had a fantastic idea!

I tenderly picked up the little squirrel... never did it cross my vodka-soaked little mind that it was odd a wild squirrel was letting me pick it up. I was mother-fecking SNOW WHITE, BITCHES!

This is the squirrel I remember.
This is the actual (flea-bitten, smelly, sick little) squirrel that Allie remembers.

I may not have the clearest memory of that afternoon but I do know one thing for sure... that little rabid squirrel and I.. our spirits bonded.

The Tale of One-Eyed Montey

Meet Montey.

Montey was the 'head petting zoo-keeper' for a children's event I was organizing at work. Not only was he madly in love with me but he also smelled like goat poop and was missing an eye due to a run in with a pissed off emu.

Pretty scary stuff, huh?

Petting zoo Montey, as I mentioned, was inamoured by me. And can we really blame him? I think not... Country boy meets big city girl... I'm pretty sure there's a Patrick Swayze movie about this somewhere. But anyway, the petting zoo was open for three week event and every day, poor smelly, one-eyed Montey would ask me out again and again...
Perhaps one of the biggest problems he had going for him (beyond the missing eye and poop perfurm thing) was that animals are not always... um... drawn to me...

But still he dreamed. That's right, people. Montey was a man of dreams.

This did not happen.

Instead, this did:

The end.

A Letter To My Baby Self

Dear Sweet Little Baby Kate,

Hey there, chickadee. This is me… well, you… giving you a buzz from the future- all ‘Back to the Future’ style and shiz. You don’t know what that means right now, but awesome movie. Sorry to interrupt your bath. Gosh, aren't bubbles just the best?... Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles... la la la la... that would probably be a lot funnier to you if you could hear me singing it in the vocal styling of Cookie Monster. Speaking of, did you hear Cookie Monster is now going to be 'Veggie Monster' due to the rise in childhood obesity and the media's affect on healthy child development? Well, of course you didn't hear that yet. You're a baby. In 1981. But you WILL hear it someday and you'll think it's a total load of B.S., wonder why it's Cookie Monsters responsibility to teach children about proper nutrition (where are their parents? Hello?) and long for the days when 'C' was just for cookies and that was good enough for you.

But, I digress... lets get back to business. The year is 2010. Sounds super cool and futuristic right? Well, we still don’t have flying cars like Janet Jetson and you sure didn't end up marrying He-man – but, hey, you ended up with a great rack. So there’s that.

While you’ve come out on the flip side as a fairly well-adjusted adult, you have done some pretty stupid stuff in your first 28 years of life. So, I thought I’d save you some time and just throw you some friendly advice. Take it for what it’s worth but here you go!

General observations:

· That whole dream of becoming an actress or maybe a 911 dispatcher when you’re an adult because your mom let you watch too much ‘Rescue 911’ as a kid? Nah. Not happening. Instead you’ll work for a non-profit and do all kinds of do-gooder little things – You’ll be kind of like Jesus… only a super narcissist and kind of snarky.

· Listen to your dad. He’s always right… like in a scary all-knowing, Yoda kind of way. It’ll piss you off a bunch of times but eventually you’ll just give in to the facts – the man knows everything about everything.

· Picking up drunk Mexican hitchhikers on your way to Vegas with two other girlfriends in the car is NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER a good idea. Not even a little. You’re lucky I made it as Adult Kate and wasn’t beaten, raped, chopped up into small pieces and scattered across the Utah mountains so I can sit here and type this message out to you now, you freaking dumb ass!

· Oh, hey. Guess what! Puberty is going to jack up your world! Your bone-straight baby hair will someday turn super, gorgeously curly and people will die of envy with how fabulous you are… And all it will take are those incredible hormones cruising through your body and making you all like ‘Boys are gross . They’re smelly and stupid and dumb and… wait… hey, did that boy just smile at me… ew… I mean… whoa… um, awesome… he’s got kooties, I mean.. I.. why am I all giggly and dumb? WHAT'S HAPPENING TO MY BODY???’, coupled with a few awkward years of not knowing how to deal with your birds nest on top of your head. You’ll get made fun of, for sure, looking like a brunette version of a homeless Carrot Top, but those kids will bite it later when you come out all super awesome and such.

· Credit cards do NOT = free money. No. No! Nooooo. NO!

· By the age of 28, you’ll have been the Maid of Honor in 10 different weddings. That's right, 10. People will tell you this is an honor and must mean you’re such a good friend to so many people… but then they’ll follow it up with a little quip like, “Always the brides maid, never the bride, eh, Kate?” This is not as funny a joke as they might think. You’ll politely laugh and maybe roll your eyes for dramatic effect the first few times but really you should just do one of the following things: a.) smack them. b.) respond, "That's right. And you're always the fatso, never the size 6, I see." or c.) call upon your theatre training and burst into tears while flailing your arms above your head and running out of the room screaming about becoming an old spinster. Trip over a chair or something and stumble for dramatic effect.

· Eyebrows don’t always grow back right. So if you’re even tempted to shave that passed-out boy’s eyebrows off while he lays in the middle of the Sig Tau fraternity house living room, be prepared to have someone hate you for the rest of your life.

· Tattoos are retarded. Butterflies are even more retarded. You. Are. Retarded. Don’t do it.

· If the tanning lotion bottle says ‘use sparingly on knees, feet and elbows’ it really means ‘If one drop of this substance touches so much as a freaking skin cell in any of these areas, you’re going to look like a Cheeto and a traffic cone got it on and one of them jizzed on your knee.’

· Nothing bad can ever possibly come from binge drinking. INCORRECT. The little voice in your head that says ‘nothing bad can ever possibly come from binge drinking’ is a fucking liar.

Furthermore, in your adult life, you’ll seem to date a lot of freaks and general douche canoes… You’ll spend way too much time obsessing over if they like you, if they’ll call, if it’ll work out… etc. etc. Don’t even worry about it now - here’s a list that should save you a LOT of time!

Signs there is a slight chance he ‘might’ not be right for you and you should stop trying to decide what you will name your first child:

· You tell him he resembles an ‘oompa loompa’ while you’re blasted drunk on your second date and yet he continues to date you for almost a year…

· He talks to God through small barn yard fowl. But we’ve already covered this. ( http://girlbrainedmoron.blogspot.com/2010/06/winner-winner-chicken-dinner-this-is.html)

· He refers to you as ‘hooker’ throughout your entire relationship.

· He tells you his is in love with any of the following (and means it!) on your first date: a girl living in another state/ you / a man / Buffy the Vampire Slayer/etc

· You and your friends only refer to him as 'Manaconda'. You may be too young and innocent to get it right now, little Katie, but trust me - this nickname has nothing to do with his ability to unhinge his jaw and swallow a goat or small child whole.

· He spits his fried calamari on you from across the table during your first date because apparently he never learned how to chew with his mouth closed. You will spend hours trying to pick octopus chunks (or is it squid? Whatever…) out of your hair.

· His favorite accessory is a fucking fedora. These are lame, Baby Kate. And even though this word hasn’t hit your vocabulary yet, say it with me: pretentious.

· He stands you up on your second date. And then calls you 3 months later to say he made a mistake. You’ll be tempted to give him another chance. But really, unless he was dying of some rare form of cancer and in a treatment facility for three months without cell phone service or Internet access, chances are good he was just an a-hole then and will be an epic a-hole in the future.

· He obsesses about his weight more than you.

· You wonder why the guy can’t just go to sleep and stays up all night like a hyper ADHD toddler on PCP - 8 months later you realize it’s actually not, in fact, a matter of PCP. But he HAS been busy snorting the nose candy.

· He runs a petting zoo and is missing an eye due to a run in with a pissed off emu - meaning consequently he wears a pirate-type eye patch. Even in your wildest Johnny Depp/Captain Sparrow fantasy, this is NOT sexy.

· He doesn’t know the difference between their, there and they’re.

· He wears Ed Hardy. Exclusively.

· He sometimes supplements Ed Hardy with ‘Affliction’ shirts.

· He is almost as old as your dad and admits that you are the oldest girl he’s EVER dated.

· He is reading this list right now and wondering if Adult Kate is talking about him.

So anyway, just thought I’d let you roll that around in your little baby girl-brain for a while. Hope some of it helps. You’re a pretty good kid… a little wacky and I’m pretty sure every night your mother will go to bed and collapse of exhaustion after chasing your spunky little butt around all day... but otherwise, it's all basically sparkles and puppies and unicorns. Keep on keepin' on.

Later gator,
Future Kate