October 19, 2015

I Can't Keep Turning 21

Remember my huge comeback article? Me neither, but it's something I wrote recently. After coming back and pecking out a comprehensive guide for America's circus/presidential candidates, I've had another brief absence from Hen articles. It's easy to come back when I have nothing else productive to do. Now that I've found a new short stint of Hens on Ice work, I once again have paying work getting in the way of my volunteer enterprise I call "The Cackling Hen." This bird accepts donations, gifts, and bribes.

Since turning a milestone age that is no longer cool to announce, I've had multiple moments of realizing not only how old I am, but also that I'm acting the part. What happened? While I may or may not be 30 (I'm not; I'm 20-something!), here are some moments I realized I'm truly (not) 30.

Times I Know I'm (not) 30:
I pray to age like this.
  • I'm apparently older than Uncle Jesse. This was the most horrid realization of all while recently watching an episode of Full House. In the episode, Uncle Jesse is prepping for his 10th high school reunion. While I'll always assume Uncle Jesse to be much older than me (he's an uncle!), my 10-year reunion was over a year ago. I guess I have to relate more to Jesse and Joey than DJ now, although I'll never relate to Danny Tanner.
  • I voluntarily listen to NPR and like it. As much as I love my Britney and 1D music collection, sometimes I crave more variety on road trips. I've recently found it to be a fun game to scan through the airwaves until something good comes on. Some areas don't have Britney/1D stations, so I'm forced to listen to talk radio. Once getting through "pro-gun," "pro-life," and "pro-static" stations, I've found a few programs that discuss interesting current issues. Then the commercial tells me I'm listening to NPR and I wonder what happened to the guy whose car was a non-stop party of club hits.
No thanks.
  • My ideal "night out" involves a wild happy hour, no crowds, and being in bed by midnight. The thought of paying cover, shoving through crowds, no drink specials, yelling over the music, and seeing 18 year olds with "X"s on their hands gives me hives. However, give me a small group of friends, drink specials, a patio, and my favorite music at a reasonable level and I'm a happy camper. 
  • My Facebook newsfeed is filled with babies. And I'm still surprised every time. The wedding influx was shocking enough at the time, but now my friends becoming parents? Huge congratulations, but gosh, they're young! Oh, wait. They're the same age my parents were when they had me, or older. I'm going to start with a cat and we'll see how that goes.

They're multiplying!

Another sign I'm maybe but probably not actually 30: I'm embracing these changes and fully content with them. I don't need to prove I'm cool to strangers (I'm not). I don't need to stay out late and be wasted for it to be a good Saturday night (I'm tired). And I can be the crazy "uncle" to my friends' babies, with my happy hour drinks and cat.

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