Don't take life too serious.

On the Brink of 33 and Feeling Nostalgic.

I realize my journey to “find myself” at (almost) 33 is ripe ammo for a fabulous 40+ to roll her eyes and ask “What the hell does she know?”. I know this because now when I am faced with a twentysomething, childless opinion, I’m usually discrediting most of it in my “older and wiser” beautiful brain.

Vintage? I still wear mine to bed.
Vintage? I still wear mine to bed.

It’s a strange point in life. “My” music is sometimes referred to as classics now by someone that may have never even bought a cd. A Gun’s N Roses t-shirt is considered vintage. My favorite childhood shows are in syndication on Nick at Night  and Snoop Dogg is giving me directions on my GPS and probably drinking more Metamucil than gin and juice these days.

I suppose I am a grown up because I am perfectly capable of driving while holding a coffee mug full of hot coffee.

I now have a hidden box full of young, incriminating pictures from my teens and 20’s.  Just saying that I dropped film off somewhere definitely dates me. The fact that there was at a time when pictures of underage kids drinking, smoking and breaking laws in various other ways were developed and not so much as mentioned to parents or authorities, cracks me up. Some one should have told on our asses.


I’m just grateful our crazy antics were captured on glossy paper and not online. No employer (or my kids) can pull up a face book video of me grinding on my girlfriends, throwing back shot number five and finishing it off with a Molly Shannon “Super Star” pose.

I see high school kids now and they look like such babies. How can they possibly be drinking, doing drugs and having sex!!!…even though I definitely was at that age.

I realize that sleeping in is a double edge sword because the longer I lie, the more I ache when I get up.


I partied like it was 1999, when it was 1999.

There are now little people at our poker games and we have to whisper when we cuss and dole out snacks and parental disciplinary in between hands.

I shook my head at Miley Cyrus twerking. We called that droppin’ it like it’s hot and actually looked hot doing it.

I have age spots on my forehead and my husband found a gray hair the day I decided to stay home with the kids. He sure thought that was funny.

Killing two 90’s birds with one stone.

I turn the radio off when I get in the car alone, instead of on these days. I just want to inhale the silence. Either that or I blare Eminem or some old school, raunchy music so I can get my white-girl rap on and shake my lady humps.

This past summer I was swinging with my daughter on her swing set and she told me to “Jump out Momma!”. I laughed and told her, she was crazy, I may hurt myself. At what point do we see soaring out of a high flying swing as a sure-fire way in to a high medical deductible and not the greatest feeling in the world?

It’s become impossible to buy jeans. I can no longer pull off low riders but I’ll die before I am seen in Mom jeans holding up my belly button.

I searched the top music hits because I was looking for some new music and didn’t recognize probably 80% of the “artists”.  So, I just threw a 90’s mix station on to Pandora and found forgotten joy in hearing Champagne SuperNova.

How did this happen?

The now 20+ year old teenage mutant ninja turtles and cabbage patch kid dolls are striking a nostalgic nerve with me and my fellow parent cohorts.  Although, as I walk down the toy aisle, I’m thinking, “When the hell did Barbie go Goth?”  and “Why does a pack of garbage pail kids cards cost $4.99 now?”.

It’s just all very strange to me.  I’m at a point where I’m starting to carve out a perspective and a life that reflects who I am at my core and the good parts of being alive and a part of our culture for the last 32 years.  At the same time, I’m responsible for mothering two beautifully un-jaded, little souls.

My threshold for dealing with other people’s unwarranted crap has gone way down and my ability to do whatever I want, despite what others may think, has gone way up.

Saying I am soon-to-turn 33 years old doesn’t feel weird. I don’t roll my eyes as if to imply being in my 30’s is a painful place to be.  It’s actually quite the opposite for me. I’m finally at a point where I live without as much angst.

My days are challenging at this point, both in raising my kids and raising myself. I like it that way.

I have so much to look forward to at this point. However, I’ve lived long enough to have something important to say and am finally at a point where I’m not afraid to say it. It feels quite lovely on me.


7 thoughts on “On the Brink of 33 and Feeling Nostalgic.”

    1. Its an age that feels good on me. I’d say it looks good but I’ve already exposed that I have gray hair, sunspots and boobs that sway to and fro. Lol. I guess we sacrifice beauty for wisdom right???…or some shit like that.

  1. At 64, I’m exactly twice your age…and still reinventing myself, too. I love your honesty and sense of humor…thanks for following me at Triggershorse – I look forward to more postings from you. – Fawn

    1. Good to know someone twice my age and twice the wiser, I’m sure, is still working towards reinvention. And thanks for laughing with me…not at me. I’m sort of a walking 32 yo mother of a cliché I think.

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