"Grown men who wear skinny jeans may as well put on a t-shirt that says, 'I MAY NOT BE AN ORGAN DONOR, BUT Y'ALL CAN HAVE MY TESTICLES.'"*

    I think it’s important to realize when things have become inappropriate for you to pull off any longer. Case in point: I no longer stay up on the phone all night or wear skirts that are the size of headbands. I don’t have the body for a headband/skirt, I don’t have the energy for an all-night conversation, and I would much prefer to clean my floors and hit the sack at 10 pm (after a few episodes of Battlestar Gallactica) than get crazy at one of these popular “discothèques” or “sock hops” all the kids are raging about. Battlestar seems pretty nutso, so I feel totally up to speed on what the young folk are doing, even if the young folk aren't really watching that particular show. Don’t worry about me. I know what's up. Furthermore, I don’t dye my hair wacky colors or date dudes that don’t have a place to live. I don’t read Cosmopolitan or get tattoos over my butt-crack…not anymore, anyway.

Battestar Gallactica: Super Mature.

    But sometimes I think maybe I need to leave my cave a little more often—breathe some fresh air, talk to fellow humans (Cylons?), etc.

    To that end, my dear friend, Jess, and I had a “Just Us Girlfriends!” date on Saturday and it was so delightful. We hit an antique shop, stopped into a home-improvement store, and took a sewing class.

    Yes, friends, it’s true: I’m a fully-fledged, trained and certified housewife.

Here I am in glorious black and white. I love not having a dishwasher!

    I can sew, plant, clean and cook. And make babies (I think, though I’ve never tried. I’m guessing it’s not that hard.)

    Does this make me old/washed up/boring?

    I actually think it doesn’t. Jess is a homeowner and can do all kinds of crafty/amazing things: paint walls and ceilings, sod the yard, plant things that aren’t exclusively succulents (the only things that can survive in my home), replace ovens, build furniture and built-ins for closets and recessed walls, make light fixtures work, fix roofs, install sconces and chandeliers, and so on. She’s ridiculously gifted.

    I want to be like Jess. Here’s what I can do: buy bottles of spray paint and then spray paint things. But it makes me feel productive somehow. I’m not suggesting this is some sort of primordial house-wifery instinct. I just like to be creative and crafty. I actually find, more and more, that there are numerous things I DON’T want to do. But most of the things I want to do are "old people" things.

    Like this: make tea, vacuum, watch episodes of "spy shows," sew (so far I just make stitches on a piece of paper, but you never know), read, watch hummingbirds, spy on my neighbors, and clean my counter-tops. Yikes.

    And here are some other things I don’t want to do anymore:

-Go to a blockbuster movie on opening night. (Why would I want to stand in a line for a movie that will clearly be showing next weekend and the 20 weekends after that? Plus, nine times out of ten, I’ll be standing there with t'weens whose parents dropped them off and who insist on talking/making out throughout the entire movie? I pass.)

Lining up for Harry Potter and the Order of Those Who Have No Life.

-Have a sleepover. Unless I’m too drunk to drive, why would I want to be in a bed that isn’t my own? (I would be willing to amend this rule for a girlfriend who was willing to help me dye my gray** hairs (yeah, I'm elderly) and watch Wayne’s World or Rocky Horror Picture Show or the entire first season of Lost with me (missing you, Em and Gabe), or a man--one that doesn’t turn my stomach— who has professed his undying love or at least his short-term respect).

-Listen to current music. I’m sorry. Justin Beiber might be the greatest artist of our time, but I’ll never know because I don't plan on listening to him.

-Send a forward. As far as I’m concerned, these are the modern day equivalent of chain letters. Chain letters always let me down.

Of course, there are more. There always will be, but I’m too mature to keep writing. More later.

*Blake Shelton. Don't know him, don't know country music, don't care. Best. Quote. Ever.
**Had to look this up, but the official verdict is in America, we spell it "grAy" and in England, they spell it "grEy." Easy to remember, but super odd, nonetheless. Names are different: anything goes. Shenanigans.