My Clumsy Transition Into Adulthood (In Pictures)

“All I get are dicks. Nobody needs this many dicks in their life.”

-This is something I just said out loud. A nice reminder that the world is better when not taken literally.

Anyway.

Today while at work I reviewed the contents of  two 5 year old flashdrives and one 4 year old external hard drive. Because I need something to do between people hanging up on me and hexing my first born. Along with a plethora of rhyme-heavy wrist-cutting poetry, pictures of Penelope Cruz (?), and tear-filled letters to my ex-husband I found three photographs that perfectly depict my clumsy transition into adulthood, ages 16-18.

1. (age 16, summer before senior year)

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I was very into looking homeless, when I was in high school.

And hunchbacked.

Like a homeless hunchbacked hippy.

With a huge rack.

2. Age 17 (Senior week, Ocean City, MD)

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I…I can’t even talk about this.

3. 18 (Alternative Spring Break – Assateague Island, Maryland)

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This is how I spent my freshman spring break. While my peers were doing body shots off of each other’s herpes scabs, I was logrolling down a sand dune. That’s me in the green. Don’t worry. I’m not pregnant. I just look that way sometimes.

 

That’s it.

That’s all I have to offer you right now. I’m in a funk de misery (not real French) with zero energy or desire to do anything but sit and stew in my own lack of motivation. It could have something to do with the mammoth storm pummeling the east coast and the fact that I work at the only school in a 4,000 mile radius of the storm that isn’t closing (not real figures). Or maybe that for the first time in my life, I referred to someone younger than me as “dear” during a phone call.

Either way I’m getting old. So old. We all are. All of us 80’s babies. These pictures coupled with this pop culture conversation prove how irrelevent we all are:

Me: But you do know who the Spice Girls are, right?
Him: Yeah. Beyonce and those two other chicks.

Even our memories are going. It’s sad. So so sad.

Love,

The girl no one believes when she tells them about her rape whistle. But it’s real. Very, very real.

About thegirlwiththeblog

At any given time I can be found moisturizing my elbows and searching for words that rhyme with orange.

Posted on February 8, 2013, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. strawberryquicksand

    You poor old thing, you! Lol. I remember when 80s babies were YOUNG! Now they are almost as old as me. (well, not physically possible as there will always be a 10 year age gap – I’m a 70s child, but you know what I mean. Age is but a number and the older you get the less it matters). Anyway. Logrolling looks like a heck of a lot of fun. My only concern would be getting the sand out of, well, EVERYWHERE once done.

  2. Black face, or is that brown face…and arms.

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