35 and Holding

I used to be able to go out without
looking like this the next day.

Now that I am 35, I actually feel more mature than I did when I was in my twenties. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I actually act more mature, but the fact that my age now rounds up to 40 gives me a false sense of wisdom I can use in approaching my problems. I don’t know that I have ever actually felt like an “adult,” but, then again, who ever really does feel like an “adult” anyway? One of the main things I have noticed since getting halfway through my thirties is how the things I get excited about, the things I enjoy, and the things I want to do with my time have changed drastically from when I was in my twenties.

When I was in my twenties I liked to go out. A lot. Now, I wasn’t really a drinker in my early twenties, though I flirted with regular alcohol consumption somewhere in the Between 26 and 29. However, whether or not alcohol was involved, I liked going out with my friends. I loved going out to eat, going to movies, going to friends’ houses, and would even go to a club occasionally, often late at night. I liked being social, and the possibility of meeting new people, and, particularly, new guys, was always exciting to me. Perhaps the most shocking thing to me now about that time is that I still wanted to go out even during the workweek.

Today I live, well, not exactly like a hermit. I do go out and do things. Like I go to dinner with my family, and I run errands, like going to the grocery store, or that all important errand of running to McDonald’s at 10 PM to get a McFlurry because I just ate a salad for dinner and am I am starved for sugar. I don’t love being around people now nearly as much as I used to when I was in my twenties. And during the workweek, I come home and immediately put on a pair of yoga pants or pajama pants and an old t-shirt that is typically unattractive and/or has holes in it. Once I get home from work it would take an act of God to: 1. get me to put regular clothes that are suitable for public viewing back on, or 2. actually leave my house for any reason whatsoever.

Now, don’t get me wrong; if, for example, there were severe flooding in my neighborhood I would definitely evacuate when told to do so, but I certainly would not put my nice clothes, not even jeans, back on, because to me, evacuation is an activity that calls for comfortable clothing. Getting me to go out after I get home from work for any reason less than an absolute emergency is kind of like trying to get me to stop eating a Bruster’s birthday cake ice cream cone right in the middle—it is simply not going to happen. Well, maybe if someone arranged a détente with my local yarn store to allow me after-hours access and free items, then maybe I would go out. Other than that, though, me emerging from my home after work is highly unlikely.

And what I can’t believe is that I used to purposely go out after work, and I would even go out to places where I had to dress up! In fact, I might even have gone out on a date after work! Now you could not pay me enough money to go on a date ever, much less after a long day of work. First, if I go on a date, it is iffy as to whether or not I will have a good time, while, with my pets, my knitting, and Netflix it is a sure thing that I will enjoy my evening. Second, I look nice for approximately the first five minutes of my day each day. After I go outside in the humid Atlanta air, my hair then looks like something that someone plugged into an electrical socket for the rest of the day, and, by the end of the workday, my makeup is all smeared and stuff. (I’m not someone who typically touches up her makeup at work.) So, if I were to go on a date after work, I would not only have to drag myself back out after getting home, but I would also have to do my entire hair and makeup routine AGAIN, and that is just asking too much!

It also shocks me that I used to like to do things late at night, and that I would even go to movies late at night. These days, if it doesn’t start by seven, I probably don’t want to do it. I do not like getting home late, and I like to be in bed by about 11 PM. I may not necessarily go to sleep at that time because I may watch tv or read, but I like to be all comfily ensconced in my bed by 11, and not out gallivanting somewhere. Plus, there is no way I could stay awake for a late night movie anymore if I had to go to the theater to watch it. It would go like this: I would be all out watching a reissue of one of the Lord of the Rings movies in the theater, and due to the dream I was having intermixing with the movie I would think that Frodo had been lounging in Maui drinking cocktails all day, which wouldn’t work at all, because a hobbit with hairy feet would obviously not dare lounge on the beach in a bathing suit! But, if I watch a movie while lying in bed, I can fall asleep and, due to the magic of DVR, it doesn’t matter at all!

Handvacs light a passionate fire in me!

Perhaps my most jolting realization about aging has been in seeing the difference between what I get excited about now, at 35, versus what I used to get excited about when I was, say, 23. For example, a few weeks ago I realized that I needed some sort of handvac for my house, you know, for when I am too lazy to actually get the vacuum cleaner out, but I have something to clean up. I was excited about shopping for my new handvac, and I enthusiastically spent an hour on Amazon.com comparing handvac reviews. I settled on one that had a cord, because a previous handvac I owned was cordless and sucked about as much as I think a date with George Clooney would suck, and I wanted one that had power.

The day my handvac arrived in the mail, I was like a little girl on Christmas morning. I got it out and tried it, and cleaned several areas of the floor with it. A few days later when my cat, Charlie, in an effort to dig through my recycling box on the table, knocked a glass candleholder to the floor, I was actually excited. The candleholder shattered and I smiled gleefully at my opportunity to see my new handvac in action. I admonished Charlie, of course, because, as you will know if you have cats, cats are such fantastic listeners and direction followers. I was secretly pleased, though. My handvac sucked up all the little glass pieces faster than Anthony Weiner can send a text message, and I was delighted with the results.

Now, if 35 year-old Audrey could have gone back in time and told 23 year-old Audrey that she would one day be extremely excited about a corded handvac—well, I’m pretty sure that 23 year- old Audrey would have punched 35 year-old Audrey in the face. As an early twenties girl, I am my excitement was mostly centered on new clothes, makeup, or boyfriends, and did not extend to cover small home appliances. Now I do not get that excited about clothing shopping. Most of the time clothing shopping only ends in tears, except for my recent shopping trip. Anyway, once I know what size I wear at a particular store I will often then just buy items that I absolutely have to have online because, like I said earlier, who wants to go out shopping after work? I mean, really!

Dear readers, I don’t know how many of you are inching, or even speeding into your mid-thirties, but maybe, if you are, you will recognize some of these very feelings in yourselves. And to those of you who are still lounging languidly in your twenties, a word of advice: You will not be so young forever. Time will pass faster than you think. So go out a lot, stay up late, and have fun while you can, because one day you too might just get excited about a corded handvac!

Haggard-looking man image courtesy of http://www.drunkmansguide.com/articles/hangover.php

Handvac image courtesy of http://www.amazon.com/Eureka-EasyClean-Hand-Held-Vacuum-71B/dp/B0006HUYGM/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1376361112&sr=8-2&keywords=corded+handvac