Happy Birthday to me!

So it's my birthday. Happy day, hooray! Hooray! I remember how big birthdays were when I was a kid. I expected, perhaps demanded, celebrations and adorations from family and friends. You got to take cupcakes for your class on your birthday, everyone sang to you, you were the star of the show, there were presents galore (remember I was an only child for nine years, life was good!)...what wasn't there to love about birthdays. Now that I'm a 30-something, more and more I like to keep it low key...just slide those birthday cards with money or gift cards under the door. Okay, that's a lie. I still love the big celebration--the look-at-me-I-was-born-today-and-the-world-is-a-better-place- because-of-it hoot-a-nanny parties. Maybe I just want to keep my age low-key. I have decided to celebrate anniversaries of my 25th birthday. I am 25 and holding. I remember my mom used to always say that she was 25 on every birthday, and I believed her. It never occurred to me that she was always the same age until I turned 25, then I began to have my suspicions. I never thought it would bother me to be a 30-something, but, admittedly, sometimes it does. When did it become a little weird for me to wear bright colored bows in my hair or trendy clothes? When did I move from the you're-like-a-cool-older-sister category to the you're-like-my-mom category? When did I start saying, "When I was a kid..." instead of "when I grow-up..."? When did i become incapable of staying up late (I can't even make the 10 o'clock news some nights!)?
Here's a post from one of the fun blogs that I follow, Clever Girl Goes Blog. Tia describes the moment of change, the SHIFT as I like to call it, really well.

Have I mentioned that my TWENTY-NINTH birthday is quickly approaching?
(Because it is. In like, three and a half weeks. Blergh.)
Usually I try not to focus on how I feel occasionally as old as dirt like I'm slowly getting older.
(Who am I kidding? I talk about it all the time.)
However, sometimes things happen to me and I'm forced to acknowledge it.
You know, like when you go out to dinner and order a drink and they don't bother to card you, or the bag boy at the grocery store calls you ma'am, or you finally come to terms with the fact that it's really not socially acceptable to shop in the juniors' department anymore.
(That last one is the hardest. And it really depends on the store. But honestly? Twenty-nine is not nineteen. And you best recognize.)

Anyhoodle.

I had one of these moments the other day while I was working in the salon.
Now, my salon is located in a nice neighborhood that is mainly residential, but has a street or two of small businesses and also a couple schools nearby. And where there are schools, there are kids. Pre-teen skateboarding kids, even.
I'd like to take this time to state that I have nothing against skateboarders in general. In fact, 10-15 years ago, I had a DEEP affection for skateboarders. DEEP. AFFECTION.
(Seriously. Why are high school skater boys always so hot?)
(I mean, when you are a teenager they are hot. That's what I meant. Not NOW.)
(NOW that would just be wrong. Obvi.)
I am aware that unfortunately, there aren't a lot of places for boys to skateboard these days. Schools have gates, skate parks are rare, and finding that perfect wall to grind on is an elusive mission.

HOWEVER.

That does not mean that I enjoy a pack of skateboarding boys wreaking havoc in front of my place of business, stubbornly refusing to yield for cars or pedestrians and consistently coming within INCHES of crashing into my new car.
(Within. Inches.)
So every time I hear the roll of wheels and the laughter of a gaggle of pre-pubescent males outside of the salon, I shake my fist in the air and keep a wary eye on the window.
And then I smack myself because I'm officially the old lady neighbor peering between the blinds and muttering to herself about "kids these days". And I wonder how I suddenly became the "misunderstandER" instead of the "misunderstandEE."

And that makes me sort of sad. Like I should cut them some slack. Like I should remember what it's like to be that age. Like I should not be SO DAMN OLD AND CROTCHETY. Like I should really not worry about my car or crossing the street and just let kids be kids.
It's not a nice feeling. I worry that I'm not cool anymore, that I've become "the man."
But you know what makes me feel better?

Remotely setting off my car alarm and watching those startled kids jump and scatter.


Thanks, Tia, for capturing that feeling!
Let it be noted, however, that I still have my dreams in my old age.
Dream #1: I want to be 90 and pull up for church on my black Harley Davidson with orange flames on the side. Possibly I will have a matching helmet, and when I pull off my helmet, I'll swish my white or pastel (see Dream #2) hair in the wind.
Dream #2: I want to dye my hair random, lovely pastel colors like blue, pink, purple, and orange and get away with it. I want to buy my hair dye from the Easter egg section.
Dream #3: I want to just say what is really on my mind at any given time, and people won't get offended because I'm just an old lady and don't mean any harm. Along with this, I also want to be able to talk non-stop...wait, I already do that...I want to talk non-stop and people will feel obligated to listen. Now, that would be nice.
Dream #4: Someday I want to live near a middle or jr. high school. After school, as kids are passing my house on their walk home from school, I want to hide in the bushes and chuck rotten apples at them. Not every day, just occasionally. It may sound mean, but if you've ever taught that age-level, then you would understand that it is actually good for them.

I guess getting older isn't that bad, as long as I have my dreams to hold onto! =)