alright, alright, alright.

I'm getting old.

I can honestly admit that these days despite the fact that I know I'm NOT old, I can't help but feel old. After attending a recent party with my pal Amy K in which I was the OLDEST person there, I began to have this sinking feeling that I'm crossing the threshold. The threshold that separates the years in which you're the youngest person somewhere from the years where you're the oldest person somewhere:

And presently, and very sadly let me add, I have found myself in a couple of incidents where I was indeed the oldest person. Call Nana and tell her somebody unlatched the playpen because all these kiddies are on the loose! They're everywhere! When the hell did this happen?!

Cut to last night where, once again, I was the oldest person at a party. (Well, actually, second oldest thanks to Alley.) But still, if the cops had shown up, the two of us would have been charged with serving to minors simply because we were probably old enough to have given birth to one of the toddlers puking in the corner. Once again, let me state, When the hell did this happen?!

Does this mean I need to grow up? Do I stop hanging out with my friends simply because they have friends that are younger than them? Or does this just mean it's over for me? Have I passed my expiration date? Is it time for me to turn in by sundown, put on the old Isotoner slippers, pop an episode of Murder She Wrote in the VCR, wrap myself in a knitted blanket, and softly pet Whiskers II all night? WILL I become the cat lady in lieu of being constantly reminded of my washed-up status by attending parties where I'm changing diapers and chalking IDs?



Nah, dude. I have no shame. You know me. I'll still go to those parties, even if only to show those kiddies HOW IT'S DONE! Or better yet, I should ditch my current social circle and adopt a new group of friends. A new, even younger group of buddies because I bet middle schoolers would think I was cool if I bought them beer and cigarettes.