Are you aging too? Wow, how weird! The whole life process, man. They said it would happen, and would you look at that. It totally is.
1. I get viscerally angry over slang.
The phrase “turn(t) up” makes me so mad you might as well have just slapped my mother. Oh my sweet god do I hate it. I mean, I get it. You’re saying let’s turn it up a notch, basically. Like, let’s party. Let’s crumple up our cares and shoot them out of a rocket launcher and dance naked in the moonlight. I got it. I’m okay with the sentiment, but say those words again and I’ll punch you in the tit.
I feel the same way about “about that life.” Do you even know what you’re saying? “Pizza. Yeah, I’m about that life.” What life? You’re about pizza life? If anyone is about pizza life it’s me, and I would never say I’m about pizza life.
2. I am slowly getting too out of touch for certain technologies.
I’m talking about Snapchat here. Apparently youngsters these days are dumping Facebook in favor of things like Snapchat I knew Facebook’s days were numbered when our parents started getting on there. So I tried to understand Snapchat, and it does not compute. So you take a picture, take a short video, whatever, then you send it to people and it disappears in 5 seconds. But….why? What the hell is the point of this? I can’t come back and look at anything later, I can’t interact with anything, and yes, I understand that’s the whole point of the app, but why the fuck does anyone care if it leaves no lasting fingerprint anywhere? Unless you’re sending dick/tit pics that you want to disappear in 5 seconds (you can still screenshot the screen, so again: what.), what is this doing for anyone? Clearly I’m missing something, and it’s made me realize that this just the beginning. I’m getting old, and I’m going to understand young people and their interests less and less. It’s only a matter of time before I’m screaming at whippersnappers to get off my lawn.
3. I just said “youngsters these days.”
Did you see that? What the fuck.
4. There is literally nothing you could say to get me to go to a club again.
Clubs are terrible. I used to love to jumping up on platforms with my girlfriends in next to nothing and dancing like I was hot shit. I think about that now and I literally can’t believe it. Who was that person? What a slut.
5. All I drink is wine or whiskey.
Gone are the days that I mixed vanilla vodka with Coke and drank it until I laid my head on the toilet and filled it with the syrupy gut sauce my insides flung up and out of my alcohol battered body. Gone are the days I threw back shots of Captain Morgan like a fucking man. Gone are the days that I tried to find the perfect juice to complement the shitty Smirnoff blueberry vodka I just bought. I still get drunk, boy howdy do I, but I do it a lot more like your grandparents.
6. My couch has become more attractive than 95% of activities I could take part in.
So wait, you want me to put on clothes, make my face look better than it really is with makeup, walk outside, get in my car, DRIVE my car, then walk to some other place, use my brain to make conversations with people, spend my goddamn MONEY on things, figure out how to make a graceful exit after a reasonable amount of time, and go through the whole walking/driving process again to get home? You seem to have mistaken me for some sort of wizard.
I am an introverted hermit naturally, but I still want to socialize and meet people, and I realize that I can’t do this from the comfort of my own living room. However, when I’m invited to take part in almost any sort of activity that takes place outside of my own four walls, it becomes an internal battle of wills — my lazy, I’d-rather-sit-here-and-collect-dust part of my brain with the motivating you’re-going-to-die-alone-if-you-don’t-get-out-there-and-be-with-humans-sometimes part of my brain.
7. There are all these young people singing songs and I don’t know who they are.
Justin Bieber, Ariana Grande, Selena Gomez, why are you so young? I’m so much older than you. Your fame hurts my feelings because it constantly reminds me of the fact that I am no longer your age, all cute and wrinkle free and shit. No, in reality, I am old enough to be your mom. Your mom who got knocked up at a really young age, but I’ve seen 16 & Pregnant and these things happen.
8. Getting ready is the worst part of the day.
There was a time when I would devote no less than one hour to my eye makeup. JUST my eye makeup. I would play with colors and go absolutely apeshit on my own face, and it was fun to me. Picking out an outfit wasn’t an excruciating ordeal, it was actually something I liked doing. My my, how times change. I usually throw the same one color of eyeshadow on everyday, and I grab the first thing I see in my closet just to get it over with. It’s a joyless process. Looking good is still important, but getting to passable with minimal effort is the only method to go with anymore.
9. I no longer like you, bad boys of the world.
I used to chase after the impossible player asshole bad boy like it was my one mission on this earth. The unattainable couldn’t be more attractive to me, the more girls liked the guy the more I was hellbent on cutting those bitches out and converting him to one-womanry. I never succeeded, of course, because hi. It’s the real world calling, and that does not ever work. Now my prime concerns are a few things: are you respectably employed?, are you at least moderately intelligent? are you funny? are you attractive enough that I can get it up for you? Cool, let’s get married.
10. My bullshit tolerance meter is busted.
I used to stay friends with people even after they blatantly stabbed me in the back, front, sides and everywhere in between, because getting taking advantage of was just one of my specialties in life. I can no longer do this. If you’re a shitty friend, I want nothing to do with you and I won’t waste any time cutting you off. Relationships are absolutely quality over quantity, and there’s no space to let people who don’t value and respect me stick around. Get out of here with that.
In conclusion, we’re not 23 anymore. Unless you are 23, in which case I hate you.