Tag Archives: getting old

I hope you have a hangover.

18 Mar

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I probably didn’t need to tell you that, did I? (I can picture you, still lying in bed, reading this with a mild hangover, disgusted that there is a green stain on your pillow from where you drooled green beer in your sleep. Sound about right?)

Well, as it turns out: I’m old, and St. Patty’s Day only served to underline how old.

Here is a list of random observations that tell me I’m starting to resemble that lady (Edna?) on the Shoebox greeting cards.

  • I went to yoga in the morning. On my way, every person I passed was either toting a six-pack of beer or wearing a bar-crawl wristband. Did I mention I was going to yoga?
  • The only green I wore was an MSU hoodie, because the Spartans are playing this weekend.
  • I got so immersed reading a book in Dupont Circle that when I heard bagpipes I thought it was a funeral procession.
  • People-watching led me to tweet: “If you can’t walk in those shoes when you’re sober, then they were probably an especially poor pick for a pub crawl.”
  • I saw a few dogs wearing shamrock bandanas around their necks and thought it was cute. But I’m so practical, I sent Alan a text saying, “I really want to adopt a cat today – who’s with me?” Because old people know they don’t have the energy for a dog.
  • I googled “Irish Step Dancers” because I actually wanted to see some Riverdance action.
  • I prepared and filed my taxes. With my window open. While watching my neighbors play beer pong on their deck.
  • Four young-looking people showed up in Dupont Circle and did and awkward clap-dance to promote some show they’re putting on. I assumed they were just four drunk kids who lost a bet until I googled the name on their t-shirts. Turns out they’re Georgetown students. Here is their group’s logo, which I think looks like either a stylized animal face or some kind of vagina-labyrinth:

The kicker? Even Obama (O’Bama?) hit a local Irish bar to have a Guinness. I’m getting out-paced – both in my bracket picks AND the St. Patrick’s Day scene by someone 13 years older than me. At least I can find solace in knowing that I have a better job.

My nephew is a tough critic.

13 Apr

My sister and her family came out to visit last week since it was Spring Break in Michigan. Sadly, DC didn’t deliver its usual dose of spring beauty – it was unseasonably cool (high of 50!) and rainy while they were here. Bummer.

The trip did allow for a revelation: I decided my youngest nephew (now eight years-old) should host a reality show. He’s cut from the cloth of Simon Cowell.

It was his first time visiting my new place, so he paced around inspecting it. “This is really nice,” he pronounced. “But you know what you need? You need a 48″ flatscreen right above your fireplace. That would make it better.”

“Nah,” I told him. “Televisions are for boring people who can’t entertain themselves.”

He considered that. “Not really. You could also use it to play Wii, and you can learn a lot from a Wii.” Noted.

The next morning I was sitting in the living room working on my laptop. “You’re boring,” he said. “All you do is sleep and work on your computer. You even have your groceries delivered. Do you ever leave your house?”

Ironically, I generally walk about 25 miles per week, but I didn’t bother to correct him. “Not really,” I said.

“Never?” he asked.

“Have you seen me leave?” I pushed.

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