drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary


teenaged whirlwind

Woah. Tonight was replete with teenaged-ness. Which was disturbing for me because it is so out of the ordinary. Yes, granted, I am what you might call a teenager myself. I prefer to refer to it as 'age-challenged', or 'blessedly youthful', if you like, but the fact remains that when you say the number of years I've been alive aloud one cannot escape the fact that it ends rather tritely in "teen".

I am left feeling slow, and quiet, and dull, and boring, and different. I always feel that way around people my age. Granted, to me they are dull and boring, but also much louder, faster, and more gadget-knowledgeable than I am. I have never seen anyone talk on the phone more than the girl I was with tonight. Not even my mother, who holds conversations that could easily be serialized with script to spare. And not just to one person. Her phone time could probably be added up to about 9/10ths of the night, and she probably only talked to the same person once or twice.

[I'm paraphrasing for comedy]

"Hey Josh, what's up, baby? You should hang out with us. Uh huh. Whatever. Oh hold on, I have another call. Uh, beep ya later, homie. Ah, Suzie. Where've you been, biotch? I wanted to talk to you. Uh huh. Not if Amy's there. What a whore. Okay. See you there. Alison! Dude! How's it hangin'? Wanna mission it over here? Whatever. Bye. Ohmygod, Brian, you dork. I miss you. Come to this party. Okay. See ya. Zach, do you have Jamie's number? Thanks. Oh, not her, she's a bitch. I want to hang out with you sometime. I'll call you later..."

It was a mass of people and nicknames and gossip and perky little cell phone rings. My head is still reeling, and I feel dirty now. Corrupted by close proximity to teenybopperishness.

We 'popped over' to a reggae concert (which was populated almost solely by middle-aged hippies with delusions of dancing talent and high blood alcohol content) where I recognized a guy I have a slight crush on from afar and failed miserably at working up the courage to talk to him. However, an older guy did approach me, introduce himself, and proceed to say, (and I'm quoting here) "You are absolutely....photographable. Just beautiful. People should have you gracing their walls as art. I'm retired now, but you should find some artist to render you. Beautiful." The music was too loud to catch everything he said (which was a shame, because I was morbidly interested), but I heard enough to make me want to crawl in a hole and laugh.

I hate feeling like a little kid. I miss grown-up parties where everyone drinks wine and discusses their spiritual awakenings and their college days. I feel out of place there too, but in a good way. Nobody condescends, and best of all- nobody calls anyone else 'homie'.

11:54 p.m. - 2004-02-21


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