mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Let's Call It An Entry Tonight, under some false information I received via Tater Fay (bad Tater, bad Tater - just joking, I still dig you) I ran off to see a free Buzzcocks show. When I arrived I was told that my name had not been added to the gratis admission list but I decided that was okay since it was worth the chance that it might have been. Sometimes you have to take a gamble. The nights events reminded me of being a teenager in so many ways the first being my manner of dress. For the show, I had dusted off my fuzzy leopard miniskirt. The length of this garment falls slightly short of obscene but that never seemed to bother me back then. Some of the getups I wore back in the day should have rightfully gotten me arrested or at the very least ticketed. I had more plaid miniskirts than a caterpillar has legs and hardly a one of them covered my ass. My tops consisted of small T-shirts with band logos and torn sleeves and I'm not sure how it happened but I never had a pair of tights that weren't held together by safety pins. Didn't I have to buy them in tact? Why can I never recall their deterioration into mere strips of nylon and spandex? Another way this evening rang reminiscent of my youth was the build up and then the let down. It always seemed I was seeking out something to do as a kid. Waiting outside the show to see if I could get let in. Taking the train to some odd locale where a party *might* be happening. Standing outside the liquor store seeking out some unassuming young man I could flirtily ask to buy my underaged ass some booze. Ahh, the joys of a misspent youth. The build up, the let down but mostly the waiting. Teens spend most of their time just waiting for something, anything to happen. But then there were the ways that tonight was so entirely different from every day spent as an adolescent. Like the fact that I was terribly aware of how short my shirt seemed and how clingy my top felt. And the fact that I drove to the show in a car I owned rather than trying to bum a ride off someone or hitchhike. Or that I could go and sit in a bar and order a cocktail when my plans fell through. Most importantly, if I had really wanted to see the show, I could have forked over $22.00 without blinking or wondering what I would eat for the next week if I spent my cash on this. Some things about adulthood aren't half bad. I rarely feel as if I am waiting or biding my time for some grand event or even a minuscule occurrence. Actually, I've been thinking about my grown up life a lot lately. Is this what I thought it would be like? No friggin' way. Is it better? Most certainly. Okay, so I'm not a rockstar or a famous writer or even a really interesting hobo who rides the rails (don't laugh, I actually considered this lifestyle after watching a documentary about train tramps) but that's all right. I can deal. I do have a great spouse and a cute house and a job I don't find demeaning. Stuff happens without the endless wait. Often things occur faster than I can keep track of and more goes on than I can hope to keep up with. On January 30, 2003, the day after I turned 29, I began referring to myself as thirty. How old are you, someone would ask. Why I'm almost thirty, I'd say. I begin sentences with "Ferchrissakes, I'm practically thirty, you'd think I'd know how to....." Good friends would say, "Mrs-R you're only 29" but I am trying on thirty for size. Thirty sounds better, more important than 29. 29 seems no different than 27 or 28 or 26. I like the resounding sound thirty makes when it rolls off my tongue, 29 sounds fictional and unreal - just plain made up. Well I can't remember where I was going with this but to sum up my thoughts: 1) I should probably discard my micro mini collection, 2)Waiting for stuff to happen sucks, 3) Buying your own gin and tonic at a bar rather than drinking a forty in a cold alley is a good thing, 4) Time speeds up the older you get and 5) Thirty is more dignified than 29. Let's call it an entry. 10:27 p.m. - 2003-06-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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