The Graduate Tuesday, January 29, 2008I woke up this morning with a weight on my chest. It felt like someone was sitting on it and that at some point during the night I had scrubbed my throat vigorously with sandpaper. I have a feeling this one is going knock me on my ass. And I'm not really looking forward to it but if does really knock me down it will give me a chance to watch more Lost.
What? I'm a woman obsessed.
Enough about my boring looming sickness or my obsession with Lost (hey, I'm only 3 years late to jump on that bandwagon). This weekend I got hit on by a dude in his early 20's. Besides the fact that he clearly doesn't remember the first time a Bush or Clinton was in the Presidential Office (not that Hillary is assured of that place) he was also in a punk band. And wearing a leather jacket, with lots of shiny grommits and studs. The kind I suppose punk boys wear. I don't know, I don't have much experience with punk boys, they really aren't my bag.
The thing was he just seemed so damn young and I'm not really into being anyone's Mrs. Robinson.
I'll admit I was flattered. But when he asked me to come to a party with him I realized the music was way too loud, my ears were ringing and I wasn't interested in swilling Pabst for the rest of the night. Sure realizing all that made me feel old, but I'm completely ok with it. I like my music at a reasonable level, I like my beer to taste good and the men I date to understand the difference.