deja vu, forever and ever amen

I've been reflecting recently (and by recently I mean CONSTANTLY) on the passage of time and how it's so slow but also fast which is, though not an original thought (not even a little), totally weird. We just hired someone born in 1994 and, as I was going over her paperwork, I thought, "wait...1994...she's not old enough to work here" because in my head, someone who was born in 1993 should still be in high school BUT NO. She's definitely old enough to work here or there or EVERYWHERE, except as POTUS but who really wants that job anyway?

It was one of many small moments that seem to sneak up on me more and more often, moments when I realize that not only am I not as young as I once was, but that everyone around me is getting older, too. This is not an "oh, woe is me, I'm so OLD" post, not at all, because I don't feel that old (unless, of course, I'm at a career fair at my alma mater because GOOD LORD was that an ongoing revelation that I'm not 20 anymore and THANK YOU BABY JESUS FOR THAT), but I do feel OLDER.

Joe and I went to trivia at a local bar last week, which was great (YOU GUYS, DISNEY TRIVIA) but we were maybe the oldest ones there? I think? We were definitely on the older end of the spectrum, which has been happening more and more frequently, especially at bars, which maybe means we're going to the wrong bars BUT I LIKE THOSE BARS so I'm going to keep going, probably. I don't know. I think it's OK. We're not those people who still hang out at college bars, doing shots until 2am because we want to relive our glory days, no, we're the couple sitting quietly at a table in the corner, nursing beers until the band starts, which I think is better, and not only because when I do shots now, I want to die the next day.

My friends are all getting married and buying houses and having babies and I feel like I talk about this a lot (because I do) but it's just so WEIRD that we're all allowed to be doing any these things. Who would put any of us in charge of another living creature? Crazy people, that's who. But it's happening more and more and those of us who used to drink until 5am AND THEN take a case of beer to Lake Michigan so we could watch the sunrise are now either pregnant (MARY, AHH!) or would rather stay home and watch Lord of the Rings instead of going out to a bar (me, duh). And it's fine! It's more than fine, really, it's natural and good and BARS ARE SO LOUD SOMETIMES. But sometimes I miss the people we all used to be, if that makes sense. I miss the person I used to be, though I like the person I currently am, but I'm a little quieter now, a little more cautious (meaning I'm less prone to illegal nightswimming), and I'm definitely a lot less likely to encourage everyone to do tequila shots at the end of the evening.

I've been writing myself FutureMe emails every week for about six months now and, since I'm sending them all a year ahead, I'll start receiving them sometime next June. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to gain from this experience, other than maybe I'll wonder why I felt the need to write stupid shit to myself every week, but I suppose it'll just be another reminder of how quickly time goes by and how much (how little?) a person can change in a year. It might end up being the most depressing project I've ever undertaken. Or it might be really uplifting and fun and super positive yay hugs! I'm guessing it'll be all of the above, but also a little weird because pretty much everything I do ends up being at least a little weird.

My uncle, when I was in high school, hurt his knee somehow, playing football or baseball or some other kind of ball (who can keep them straight?) and told us he'd hurt it because he was still trying to play like he was 25, since in his head, he WAS still 25. And I thought, at the time, "well, that's just odd," but now I wonder if I'll always feel that way, too. Maybe I'll be writing a similar post in 25 years, provided the world doesn't end in a few weeks or that the internet doesn't collapse in on itself at some point, about how I can't believe my friend just became a grandma or won the Nobel Peace Prize or whatever. Maybe we all stay a certain age in our minds, no matter how many years removed we are from it, which means I'll always be missing that person, so far removed from who I am now, and removing herself further and further each day. Maybe these FutureMe emails will give me a better glimpse of who that person was, that she's not that far away and that, really, I can hang out with her any time I want because HELLO BLOG ARCHIVES.

Though, again, this all hinges on the internet not falling apart in the next 25 years. So, you know. Fingers crossed. 

when you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way

This morning, I almost walked right into a goose fight. Goose fight! This is an almost everyday occurrence. We live right next to Walden Pond (suck it, Thoreau . . . I'm just kidding, Henry, I love you) and there are geese everywhere. Angry geese. They fight all the time, sort of like they're the geese versions of the Capulets and the Montagues. I almost ran over Tybalt and Benvolio as I was pulling out of the parking lot. Tybalt was chasing Benvolio and trying to bite him on the butt. It was weird. A couple weeks ago, Heidi and I watched the geese fighting for like twenty minutes. OK, it was five minutes, but whatever. While we were watching it, we had the following conversation. Or something like the following conversation. I don't remember, it was two weeks ago and if you think I remember EXACTLY what happened two weeks ago, then you are sorely mistaken.

Me: Heidi! The geese are fighting!
Heidi: I thought I heard them!
Me: Ooh, that one is chasing the other one!
Heidi: They're so angry!
Me: This is just like Romeo & Juliet.
Heidi: OK.
Me: Oh, man, look at that one!
Heidi: He's all, "Get off my property! This side of the pond is MINE!"
Me: And the other one is like, "Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?"
Heidi: Um . . . geese don't have thumbs.
Me: Whatever.

Anyway, later this morning, a duck almost flew right into my windshield. THE BIRDS HAVE GONE CRAZY.

So my birthday has come and gone and I have to say it was a good one. I met my parents and sister for dinner last night and it was delicious. Heidi came, too, because she is their favorite daughter. It's true. They tell me all the time. It's really bad for my self-esteem, but do they stop? No. Anyway, do you want to know what I had for dinner? Too bad. I ordered the chicken piccata JUST BECAUSE it came with mashed potatoes and asparagus. I think I would order a main dish of Poop Flambe if it came with a side of mashed potatoes. We also had wine made by, as my dad pointed out, "Nicholas Cage's uncle." Hee. And I got a free chocolate mousse! And! Even better, the restaurant staff didn't do anything embarrassing like, you know, sing a stupid birthday song. I hate that. It makes my face all blushy and I hate that even more.

After dinner, Heidi and I went shopping, which I normally hate, but I needed some stuff. I only bought necessities, which were: running shoes, a t-shirt with Animal on it. If you don't think that last one is a necessity, then I don't think we can be friends anymore.

just for the record . . .

I can no longer listen to this song:



without thinking of this piece of awesome:



True story.