Guest Post: I’m too old for this shit, too young to go to bed at 8

4 Aug

She’s a Girl with Glasses can’t be the only one out there in this predicament. Wait. Should I use the word predicament? I mean, we non-children-having-some-would-say-lucky bastards may be in the predicament. All I know is I don’t have kids. I’m one of the fucks she keeps referring to that goes out doing cooler things. Or so I think they’re cool. No. They are cool. Right?

Meet Girl with Glasses

A friend asked me the other day what I did on Saturday night. I think he was unimpressed with my answer: drank Diet Pepsi while watching canceled television shows on Netflix Instant Play, at the same time reveling in the silence of my sleeping children. What, that doesn’t sound like a wicked good Saturday night to you?

I never claimed to be the coolest duck in the pond (that designation would clearly go to Donald, because the guy can rock out without pants and no one, over a half century later, has had the nerve to bring it up to him), but I find myself less cool with every passing year. It’s difficult to be cool when you can never leave the house. The odd happy hour invitation or music gig must be weighed against the husband’s work schedule, appointments, how much sleep I managed the night before, whose car has gas, and the most recent time I conned my parents into baby-sitting. My husband works evenings, and so his few nights off a week have to be orchestrated: my time out, his time out, our time home together ignoring each other.

I’ve marveled at my single and childless friends and the amount of time they spend out doing far cooler things than I. I follow them on Facebook, through Foursquare, popping handfuls of M&M’s in my mouth as though I’m watching a movie. “Ohh, they’re at the Meadowlark now! I wonder who’s playing… Nice, after bar snacks the Denver Diner…” It’s both pathetic and reassuring, this night out while I wear my pajamas and take in season two of Veronica Mars for the tenth time. Maybe I’m not out in lipstick and doing that hip wiggle that comes onto me when I get a couple shots of tequila under my belt, but I can predict the photos that will be coming from my friends’ cell phones over the course of the evening.

I’ve never been the most outwardly social person as it is, so I didn’t have much in the way of a style to cramp when my kids came along. I saw all the Buffy episodes on their original air dates. I am a cheap drunk because I mostly never drank in bars. I found a rut and firmly implanted myself in it and– I don’t regret it. I have many friends who are parents, who regularly mourn the loss of their previous lifestyles. I secretly rejoice that I have a firm excuse to stay the hell home on a Saturday night. I can’t believe I’m the only one who prefers the idea of some streaming video, fleece pajama pants and snackfood in a quiet room over bar hopping or a party. I’ve been described as a homebody, but I think it’s more accurate to call me anti-social without the murderous implications. I’m lazy but without the sloth. I’m too old for this shit and too young to go to bed at eight.

I’m excited about next Saturday night. The husband and I save up new episodes of the Guild and watch them together, then he plays video games while I spend the night talking to my best friend, another mother who would much prefer to watch life outside her window than put on her pants and join it. We have our own little fishbowl lives, and dammit if I don’t like my wee treasure chest. Bubbles: mine.

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2 Responses to “Guest Post: I’m too old for this shit, too young to go to bed at 8”

  1. Andrea August 5, 2010 at 8:02 pm #

    At least you have kids to use as an excuse. I don’t. So, when I tell people that my husband and I consider running errands, renting DVDs, and spending more hours than we’d ever admit on the computer (he: video games, me: social media), as a great weekend, the inevitable hairy eyed stares immediately follow.

    • girlwithglasses August 6, 2010 at 9:39 am #

      Kids are very much good for a handful of things and one of them is the excuse to never leave the house. I do feel your pain, however, as I rarely left the house BEFORE I had them. And back in those days, no one would believe you were just sitting around staring at the drawings in your cave, no sir.

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