Signs of the times.

Hello old, cynical Brittany, when did you show up?

Apparently, some time ago, but I was too busy still thinking I was fabulous to notice.

Like a slap to the face, it has been brought to my attention (having nothing to do with my quarter life crisis...hello buzzword!) that I may be getting old...er...oldish...old-like. Sigh. I'll be 27 next month.

27.

And the funny thing is, I am pretty sure I was young, like, just a few months ago. But, I woke up this week, having been visited by the drunkalmost30hereisyourAARPcard fairy. She left me with a creeky hip and under eye bags.

But, there were other signs. Little things started to outrage me. I started referring to kids and teens as "today's youth."

I started cursing the price gouging 12 year old who shovels my driveway for me.

When the fuck did Girl Scout cookies get so expensive!? I mean, there is still only about 5 cookies in each box. Did the price of peanut butter go up drastically and I didn't hear about it? I swear they were a dollar when I was in Girl Scouts.

If those kids don't stop running across my grass, I am going to freak out. Can't they see we just reseeded?

I am planning our 10 high school reunion, and I am trying to find a DJ that:
A. Won't play the music really loud
2. Won't laugh at me when I ask them to play Ace of Base
(BTW...that was a popular group when I was in high school, so lay off!)

I have developed a need to fix up any single person I come across. I literally make the "tsk,tsk" sound behind their backs when shaking my head. I am my mother.

Sluttier versions of the toys I played with in the 80's are back. Like a skanky Rainbow Bright, or half naked Strawberry Shortcake. What kind of message is that sending to today's youth!?

What is my problem?

I used to be fun, carefree, tighter in areas I am looser, and waaay looser in areas I used to be tighter...if ya get the picture.

I thought my pending 30's would be a picture of "Reality Bites" bliss. I thought my cynicism would be about political unrest or raging against the man, not about whether I trust our financial planner, or if I really got a full bottle of Xanax last week at the pharmacy (I swear there's only 28 in there!).

I am going car shopping today, and I swear to God if I come home in a mini van, someone slap me. Hard.