I'm getting old

It's true. When my Mother e-mailed to discover what I so desperately wanted for Christmas this year, I responded with "well, I don't really want anything, but I do need some mixing bowls and a muffin pan." Mixing bowls and a muffin pan. Is this what I've become? I also requested measuring cups/spoons, a potatoe masher, a pizza slicer, a can opener, chopping knives, cookie cutters, a rolling pin, a spoon rest, a ladle, etc. I asked for a rolling pin. I'm in my mid-twenties! I am young, hip, and cool! I live in the thriving metropolis of Houston, Texas! I can literally walk to the Galleria and to numerous trendy, expensive bars and restaurants! You'd think I need sexy heels (which I do), flashy jewelry, short skirts and shiny, low-cut tops!

Nah. I just need a rolling pin.

I asked for this for a reason. I'm not just a freak. I was baking cookies the other night, and I wanted to use my brand-new cookie cutters that my mother so kindly bought me. Making cut-out cookies involves rolling the dough onto the counter in order to create a flat pallet off of which you can cut out your cookies. In order to do this, I needed a rolling pin. Well, seeing as I didn't have one, I used the next best thing: a wine bottle. After covering said wine bottle in flour, I proceeded to roll the dough out onto the counter. Needless to say, I was incredibly unsuccessful. Dough got everywhere, particularly the places it shouldn't have been, specifically, my mouth. :( It was a mess. I was a mess. AND I had to throw away the wine bottle because I was too lazy to wash it off and place it back on top of my cabinets, which is where my wine bottle graveyard is located. I guess I'll just have to drink another bottle of wine. Too bad.

Moving on, the whole point of this entry was to explain how lame I now am. Hopefully, I have successfully conveyed that message to you. If not, let me elaborate. I could easily be talked into not doing anything fun on New Year's Eve this year. Yeah. What the hell? For some reason, sitting at home, drinking Irish coffees and watching movies seems like the most fantastic idea in the world to me. This isn't to say that I don't have incredibly fun options: I could drive to either Austin or Dallas to attend fabulous house parties at good friend's houses. I could also hop on down to San Marcos to spend time with my amazing sister and niece, which I may do, just not on New Year's. I, too, could go home and party it up with some old high school peeps. OR I could stay in Houston and go with college friends to a pub, dress to the nines, party my ass off, and stay at a super-nice hotel. But all of these options involve money, driving somewhere, and me showering. Sitting on my ass at home, eating chicken pot pie does not, however, involve me bathing. Or even having to resemble a respectable human being. This option seems just glorious, and that, my friends, makes me old. And somewhat anti-social, but I can live with that.

Polished

I'll never be one of those women who always looks "put together."

I wish I were. I wish I had the motivation to look simply fantastic wherever I go. Even just to Target. I will forever be the "jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops" kinda girl. And I'm okay with that, really, but it does make me feel a little less feminine and stylish when I see a woman walking her dog at Memorial Park in the perfect dog walking outfit: perfectly fitted running pants, and tailored sweater that enhances the female physique, perfectly pony-tailed/tousled "I don't care, but it looks fantastic anyway" hair, cute Chanel gloves, Burberry rainboots, and the cute well-behaved dog that isn't attempting to choke itself on its leash by running 100mph faster than I'm walking. Ugh. Then, when she gets done walking the dog, they hop into their lovely, clean, un-dented vehicle that doesn't have Whataburger cups strewn about everywhere. Who lives like that?!?! An example of what this may look like would be Charlotte York, from Sex and the City:

photo courtesy of http://img210.imageshack.us/i/charharry7jg.jpg/
The only thing I can figure is that they must put out 150 times more effort than I. They're the type of people who wake up an hour early to go to the gym, eat breakfast, read the newspaper and pay bills all before they even leave for work to begin the day. I, on the other hand, hit snooze until I'm forced to launch myself out of bed in terror that I'll be late for work, leaving only enough time to brush my teeth, pull my hair back, and throw on something that hopefully matches. I don't like to think of it as laziness, I just like my sleep more than I enjoy looking halfway decent.

But can this be cured? Why couldn't I be that stylish-looking, polished woman? Huh? I could do it! It would just mean sacrifice. I can make sacrifices. I guess it would be nice to not run around in total paranoia every morning. I could go to the gym, get my heart pumping, work up a sweat, then come home and actually cook breakfast for myself, instead of hoping and praying that one of my co-workers will bring in kolaches that day. And paying bills before work would definitely alleviate some stress. I could wash dishes and do laundry before work, too. Then, whenever I came home, the only thing I would really need to do would be to take Lucifer out to potty and......that's it. I could even take her on long walks at Memorial Park! She would love that! I would actually have time to train her to not choke herself on her leash! I hate only being able to walk her to the end of the street and back because I have other shit to do. This would be so great.

That's all I would be obligated to do in the evenings: Walk Lucy. Also, I could actually not rush to try to thaw something out for dinner, maybe go to the bookstore and do a little shopping, maybe meet up with friends for a drink. I absolutely hate having to spend my free evenings doing tasks that keep me from just relaxing and enjoying myself. I could find recipes during the day, then go to the grocery store after work, pick up the necessary ingredients, and actually cook a nice meal!!! OH MY GOSH, THE POSSIBILITIES!!!

This is starting to sound more and more attractive. And my body clock would actually work with it. Especially on weekdays, since I really enjoy hitting the hay at around 9:00pm, anyway. Oh my gosh. I could really do this! And on Sundays, I could actually not look like a hungover, bleary-eyed monster at church. Wouldn't that be a treat for all those sitting near me? The more I ponder this, the more I like the way it sounds. I could do this.

Will I hate every minute of it the first few days? Absolutely. But I really do think that it will be a good decision overall. It will definitely train me for the day (in the very, very distant future) when I have 87 (3) kids that pop open at 4am wanting something from me. I have been waking up pretty early the last few weeks, anyway (I have to be at work at 7:15am, so I've been waking up at 6:00). I don't think it would be that much of a stretch to start waking up at 4:30 or 5:00. I could have an hour at the gym, come home, shower and eat breakfast, take Lucy for a little walk, and still have some time left over.

So, maybe I can be one of those "put-together" women, after all. Maybe with 20% more effort, I wouldn't have to look like a greasy-haired slob. Maybe I could actually look 25, instead of 19. It sure would make me feel better. I wouldn't have to stand next to one of these stylish women and wish I would have put on clean jeans. I think, overall, it's about self-respect, and being happy with the way you present yourself. Hell, if I don't take myself seriously, who will? And to be sure, this doesn't have anything to do with self-confidence or needing approval from others; this is about approval from myself and being sure and proud enough of myself to dress and conduct my affairs in a way that shows I am a mature, respectable adult.


Which I am. :)