On my Facebook page the other day, I decided to jump on the “How Hard Has Aging Hit You Extravaganza for 30-Somethings Reliving Their Best Life Via Facebook” challenge. I had my profile picture from college next to my current profile picture. The pictures were taken approximately twelve years and one hundred forty-two bottles of self tanner apart.
I could say that having children aged me. Or having a full time job and a mortgage and responsibilities has aged me. But I know that it’s really the fact that I am actually twelve years older that has aged me. And I have cut the tanning bed out of my life. And I removed my belly button ring. And I tossed the silver eyeshadow and super blonde highlights. And the tube tops and chokers. And the Heaven Hill Vodka and Keystone. And caring what other people think about me.
All of this has made me think about how much things really have changed since I was in college.
That was the day of the Motorola Razr cell phone. OMG that thing was so cool. Mine was pink and I ADORED IT. I would flip it open with my fake acrylic nails and talk on it while walking across campus in my short jean skirt and Chi Omega t-shirt. I legit thought I was cool. I was so wrong.
That was the time when blowouts were parties I attended with keg stands and people sitting on the roofs of houses. Now they mean my one year old has pooped all over himself and, if it’s a really bad day, he has pooped on me as well. The one thing both of these blowouts have in common is that they both made me puke.
Back in the day, pulling an all-nighter meant I was studying for a test with a group of friends at the library the night before finals, or writing a paper for a class. Now when I pull an all-nighter, it’s because one of my kids is sick and won’t sleep unless I am walking them around the house while simultaneously holding and bouncing them while they vomit down my back. I don’t know which one of those situations I would prefer to do now.
When I was a twenty-something, a cloud was a white puffy object in the sky. Now it is an integral part of storing every photograph and memory I have of my marriage and children and life in general. Don’t ever get a new phone without double checking that you uploaded your wedding pictures, baby photos, Outlook calendar, Excel spreadsheet with your addresses for the annual Christmas card and favorite recipes to the cloud!
Let’s bounce back to twenty-years ago, where dial-up was the screechy noise you heard when you were trying to connect to AOL so you could IM your friends and that one boy you had a crush on while listening to the latest Destiny’s Child cd and singing all the words to Bills, Bills, Bills. Because MCI was a thing back then. You would get disconnected from a super important chat if someone called your landline or your mom needed to call her sister to talk about the latest gossip in town. Now dial-up doesn’t mean a damn thing. If it does mean something, it must be cool and hip, two things that I am not.
A wall used to be an object that formed a room. Now it is where I receive the majority of my birthday wishes.
Being viral used to mean you caught some sort of sickness that quarantined you to your house and you didn’t have to go to school. You got to lay on the couch, watch The Price is Right, drink Sprite from a hard plastic cup and eat saltine crackers. Now everyone and their mom is trying to go viral by posting something on the internet that takes the world by storm, normally baby or animal related. Or a picture of a group of people and you can’t tell whose legs belong to which person.
Times are changing rapidly, and most likely I will read this in ten years and laugh because it is extremely outdated and AOL IM has made a comeback. Or my blog will be obsolete and I will be living my best life on a beach somewhere because I hit the Powerball. Or I will be doing the exact same thing I am doing right now, but I will be another twelve years older.
Obviously, I have no clue what the next twelve years have in store for me, but I can only hope they have been as fun, scary, exciting and monumental as the last twelve.
Until Next Time,