Growing Up

Adonymous called me at work today to let me know that my laptop was fixed – yes, fixed! OMG! I must have thanked him about a bazillion times and I almost wept with joy at seeing my baby again. Oh, iTunes, I’ve missed you! Music! Podcasts! My own store! MY DOCUMENTS, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. And then…I fired it up. And, uh, the motherboard fried with this giant, sweeping black screen of death. Ad assured me that he was able to boot it before, and it’s just so…so…TYPICAL that it fried the first time I turned it on. I miss her, and now I am afraid she’s gone forever. RIP, Rosebud.

A random housekeeping issue: I’m not pregnant, and I’m not planning to become pregnant, you know, at this exact moment. Although I have a relatively small readership, apparently something I said accidentally set off the pregnancy alert button, for I got a few emails, including some from people I know in real life, which made me feel terrible, for dude, if I were pregnant, I would TOTALLY TELL YOU FIRST, before making a half-assed announcement on some blog.

So! Moving on! To what, I’m not sure, but we’re moving on! My mind is completely blown by the fact that it’s mid-December, by the way, and Christmas is mere weeks away. I’m….well, I’m a little horrified, if I am to be honest, because not only does it continue to be hot and humid (festive!), but I have done absolutely no shopping for anyone in my life, as in, if you missed it: none. I am also having a few issues with turning 31 (on Dec. 27), and I’m not sure why that is, given that I turned 30 without really noticing. I mean, it’s not like I think it’s old or anything, really. It just seems THAT MUCH OLDER THAN 30, and I don’t know why, because it isn’t, and if I were having this conversation with someone other than myself, I’d tell her to shut up. It’s been an odd sort of adjustment as I’ve grown up, if I may use such a juvenile word, to see what my life has actually turned out to be vs. longtime expectations. Certainly in areas, I’ve far surpassed any expectations, but in others, well, I continue to be surprised at how quickly the years fly by. Like many little kids, back when I thought that 22 was the pinnacle of OLD, I assumed that by 25, I would be married with a house full of children, and would be well on my way to some fabulous career with an assload of scrapbook-worthy accomplishments. Because 25 was practically DEAD, God. I wonder what my 12-year-old self would have thought of 31.

It’s not that I’m unhappy – quite the opposite, in fact, for it’s been a great year. I’ve done a lot of things I never would have expected, and I feel pretty good with where we’ve ended up. Not that there isn’t more that I want to do – certainly not – but I no longer feel this overwhelming drive to accomplish my face off, for I learned that’s the quickest way to completely miss out on your life. Not to bring it back to the initial topic of kids, but it surprises me even today that I’ve reached this age so quickly without having kids – not that I would change it, really. And the truth is, I still don’t feel old enough to be this age, or any age other than 17. I remember when I got married at 27, I felt so shockingly young to be getting married. I almost laughed through my wedding vows because I couldn’t believe someone was actually allowing me to get married, and shouldn’t someone take my parents aside and remind them that I am far too young for this, and maybe STOP ME?

I am not sure where I’m going with this. I guess to say simply that I feel far too young for my age, which completely shocks me, since I’ve spent the vast majority of my life feeling old and introverted and partied out. I don’t feel young in the sense that I still have to get my shit together, because, shockingly, my shit is extraordinarily together, but young in the sense that God, life is coming at me so fast and I can’t figure out where the years went. And also, it doesn’t really help that I have an almost primal need to call my mother every time I get sick or feel overwhelmed with something and if she lived close by, I would have to be restrained from crawling into her lap.

Finally, and shockingly unrelated, I collect old housekeeping/self-help/cook books from the ’50s and ’60s. I find them hilarious on so many levels, from the complete chapter in a vintage copy of Hints from Heloise that tells women what to do when their man comes home from work (“Smile! Put on lipstick! Make sure ashtrays are empty! Fluff your skirt!) to the transformation of cookbooks everywhere with the advent of prepared convenience foods. Nothing makes me smile more than countless recipes for the new-fangled Ritz cracker mock-apple pie (Why use real apples, when Ritz taste the same?) or entire chapters devoted to figuring out how to work with this new thing called “cheese food” also known as Cheez Whiz. I recently came into an old copy of the Joy of Cooking, and really, given a recent conversation about peanut butter sandwiches (and also given that there were some of you, oh my God, who were way into peanut butter and bacon because you are gross), I feel oddly compelled to share this little number which seriously, makes me want to throw up. This is the recipe exactly as it appears in the 1962 printing of the JoC. Frankly, it’s the random commentary after the ‘preheat broiler’ statement that kills me.:

Peanut Butter & Bacon Sandwiches
Preheat broiler
Virtue, however admirable, is frequently dull. Peanut butter needs enlivening! Try this mixture on the unconverted.
Combine:
3/4 cup peanut butter
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons pickle relish or chili sauce
1/4 cup cooked minced bacon

Toast on one side:
4 slices white bread

Spread the untoasted side with the mixture. Broil the sandwiches until the tops are brown and slice diagonally. Enjoy! [Ed. note: Vomit! VOMIT! CHILI SAUCE AND PEANUT BUTTER.]

*Peter Gabriel. My ghost likes to travel.

23 comments December 11th, 2006