A few days ago, the besties and I were on one of our sporadic conference call talking about old times. Old times as in college days, which were like, 11 years ago. My, how time flies. One of the kids at my church tells another, “Miss Alisha’s old. She graduated in the 90s.” **Officially dead and gone**.
She said 90s like it was a lifetime ago. It wasn’t. In fact, it feels like yesterday. I’m not even 30 yet, but I can’t deny that I’m maturing. I do and say things that I would never have dreamed even five years ago. Here are a few points of proof I’m getting on up there:
1. I’m attending more summer events that require lawn chairs.
Yeah. Crawfish festivals, picnics, (Insert Name) at the Park–whatever. I’m all about it. Years before, nothing said “old as hell” more than a bunch of grown folks sitting around in lawn chairs drinking beers with face towels to wipe off sitting in their laps. Now? I say, “Bring it on!”
2. I hate this new writing/text code stuff the kids are using on social media sites.
Can somebody tell me what this means?
abula haven is a meszx she qot me trippinq ova hur b4a ii hit dha sheets.. ! tawkn 2 dha lil kuzzo/ lil 1 [tranecee]. ! i was txtn mi bestiee [ ashleyy] dnt knw wht happen doe.. qudd nytee fb.. bbl;
It’s one thing to use text message characters. (IDK for “I don’t know” or BRB for “Be right back”). I get those. The purpose to is to shorten the words. Why are kids adding letters? Are they doing this to confuse adults? If so, they won. I can’t break my brain trying to decipher foolishness. I just want to beat them over their heads with a book. Read! Act like you know how to read and write. Contrary to what you think, it matters in the real world.
3. I’d much rather do a small gathering with friends or dinner than a crowded, smokey club.
Flashback to New Year’s Eve 2008: I was in Atlanta with the BFF. We paid a grip, bought cutesy dresses and heels and stood out in the cold to get into what was supposedly the A’s hottest party. It was great indeed. The drinks mixed with the music, great friends and party favors made the night a success, but I still felt like something was missing. Afterwards, we went to a small house party where I was able to take off my shoes, eat party food and dance to 90s music from a friend’s iPod. Good times unrestricted. THAT made the night all worth it.
4. If and when I do go to the club, my maximum time in is an hour and 15 minutes—absolutely no longer than two hours.
There was a time when I would open the club and shut it down. I’d even stay for the “let out.” If a party was that on, I and other party-goers wouldn’t want the night to end. Can’t we stay just another hour? Now? Kill yoself. I can only do an hour and some change. It’s not worth it to stay any longer, especially if there’s “high-impact dancing” going on. (Which there shouldn’t be–atleast not regularly.) Besides, it’s only so long I can listen to Soulja Boy ‘nem singing off-key in my ear anyway.
5. What used to be “old” to me is now “young.”
Let me explain. When I was a youngin’, I remember seeing people come back for homecoming (or randomly walking around campus). They just seemed grown. Maybe the sleeve on their lineshirts read “Spring 97,” or they’d already graduated by the time I entered school as a freshman. Then, they were simply “old as hell.” Point blank. 25? 28? They might as well have had one foot in the nursing home. Conversely, I remember being so proud to scream out when the party hype man said, “If you 25+ and got money in your pockets, get yo’ mutha….!”(you know the rest) Now, just a few years later at 29, I realize how young I really was. Le sigh.