Monday, July 21, 2008

11 signs you're not as young as you used to be:

(why eleven? because the signs keep increasing.)

1. You have nothing to wear to a post-Pitchfork show on Saturday at some place called a Bottom Lounge.

2. You are dismayed to find that the headliner isn't going onstage until well after midnight.

3. You are doubly dismayed to find that it means you won't get home until much much later.

4. You are glad you wore comfortable shoes, though you suspect you look like someone's mom or older sister.

5. An offer of drugs, held out on a key, moves you not.

6. You are concerned about the state of the bathroom.

7. You are glad that you're going home alone (though there was a 50-50 chance that the evening could have turned out differently.)

8. The fact that the weather turned monsoon-like does not deter you from walking doggedly home, alone, after 1.30 am, barefoot, without an umbrella. The important thing is that you are going HOME.

9. You only think glancingly about the crime scene you are contaminating while you crawl, barefoot, over and under the police tapes at the shooting on Ashland, at 2 am, rather than walk around it. The important think is that you are going HOME.

10. You remember the nights, way back when you lived in Boystown, when you would have stayed at Fusion or Roscoe's until 3 am, ingested party favors, hit an after-hours party, hooked up with someone, stumbled home while the sun rose and still had the stamina for brunch in a few hours. You remember all this and want to slap that previous person you were - 8 years ago.

11. You also remember you have a tennis appt early in the morning and you don't think about canceling because you know you must and it would be good for you.

4 comments:

bitchphd said...

A tennis appointment?!?

ding said...

Sigh.
Yes. Now I'm starting tennis. My middle age cushiness is starting to bug me.

But I need a steady tennis partner!

bitchphd said...

Dude, you're so . . . suburban!

ding said...

I'm from LA. Of course I'm suburban.

Tennis is the only way I can fool myself into exercise! I hate gyms, I don't have the cash for yoga (or the patience for the yuppie/hipster righteousness), and jogging makes my boobs hurt.

So-tennis!

I played last night, pulled a muscle and then went home to make an ice cream float and smoke a cigarette. Baby steps, dude.