Friday, January 14, 2011

HSM (Holy Shit Moment)

Occasionally, I have an HSM (Holy Shit Moment) when I realize that I'm almost 30. It's like I've been in a coma since high school and suddenly I have grey hair and wear mom jeans. This happened yesterday, when I saw that almost all of the "People You May Know" on facebook have small children in their photos, or bridal gowns on. It also happened when my car insurance went down at age 25, and again on Thursday when I realized I will have to change the name of this blog soon from "TwentySomething" to "Countdown to Hades".

When did we get to that age where everyone we know is married or has children? I don't know about you, but I still feel like I'm that 18-year-old college girl, planning which frat party we're going to hit on Thursday night. Only Thursday is a school night. I don't go out on school nights anymore. And now I'm smart enough to know that jungle juice is really just Koolaid powder and vodka.

The other day I looked in our freezer--it has been filled with almost full bottles of liquor since our summer BBQ. I thought about how when we were 18, we would drink absolutely anything we could get our hands on (such as half gallons of Popov and Crystal Palace, Busch's and Natural Light), and how my freezer would have never made it to be this full of unconsumed liquor back then. Both an empowering and depressing realization.

I also realized that (as corny as this sounds), I am responsible for three other tiny, furry lives now. I am a mommy. Mouths to feed and all that. I have to pay rent, pay taxes, pay my bar tab. Life isn't as carefree as it used to be, but it also isn't as acne-prone and awkward, and I wouldn't go back for anything.

So even when I have an HSM every now and again, realize I'm almost 30, start to slow panic and breathe into a paper bag, I remind myself that I would not want to be that 18-year-old again, with all of the growing pains and awkwardness that come along with it.


  1. Age is just a state of mind. Or in some cases, a state of situation. Me, I'm still 21. I just drink nicer beer now. And hurt more the next day. And wonder why WHY the hell did I do shots of Jameson alongside those beers? The answer? I'm not ready to be 30, and numbers have nothing to do with it.

    But anyway, it's Friday night and those beers aren't going to drink themselves.

  2. I have a secret for you. I am neither knocked up nor tied down (in the marriage sense), so bring on the daddies. Or beers. We can even drink everything in the freezer if you'd like a flashback to 18. It's no probs.

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