I feel super old, which is sad because I’m only 26. Classes started last week and I was supprounded by youngin’s on campus. These little 18-year-olds who were so super excited about everything. So thrilled because Look! Over there! A cute boy! And over there! Pizza slices for a buck! And over there!?! A free tshirt when you sign up for a credit card!!!
I went to meet some friends for drinks and say goodbye to one who is leaving on a 2 month backpacking trip to Europe. While it sounds exciting, he’s staying in hostels. Like, no mint on a pillow hostels. You couldn’t pay me to stay in one. I watch movies, I know what happens in those places. Plus, where would I store my bengay? We old farts have to think about these things before long trips.
Another was telling me that he bought a company with his brother. I know people who are business owners. I’m still trying to work the system so I never have to work another real job in my life. I’d prefer to be a lady of leisure but Dan says that’s not gonna happen. My next pick is professional lottery winner. I’m still trying to figure out where to send my application to.
Finally, a third was telling me about her decision to try fertility drugs. When I asked why, she told me that age was a factor and they were concerned that the clock was ticking too quickly to allow them to have the 3 kids they wanted before she hit 40. Not only is it weird that I have friends who are having babies and/or thinking about babies, but it’s weird that I have friends who are worried that they might not be able to have babies. My biggest concern as of late is whether or not I’m going to be able to have a dollar slice of pizza and still fit into my jeans.

To combat this age worry, I started thinking about the young and stupid things I did. One that pops into my head was the time my sorority sisters and I got into a war with some frat guys. We all filled water balloons with shaving cream, with the intent of having a balloon fight outside. Somehow, the war started in the frat hallways, which as the balloons were flying made everyone scramble into dorm rooms. The fighting continued, with no regard to personal property. Once peace was restablished, the guys had pledges clean up the mess. At the time, I didn’t feel bad. That’s what pledges were for, right? But now I think back to those poor guys who were on their hands and knees with towels, sopping up the remnants of our quick battle. I feel badly for how I treated them.

Well, that didn’t help my age worry. Instead it made me feel guilty. No more self therapy for me.

When most people get a mosquito bite, that’s the end of it. They get one. One measly little nip from a winged thing that leaves an itchy bump. A bit of anti-itch lotion on it and it’s forgotten about.

With me, when I get a mosquito bite, I get more than one. 5 this time, 7 last time. (Although, optimistically, this means I’ll get only 3 next time. That’s how it works, right?)

These bites turn into welts, which quickly turn into large lumps the diameter of a softball. Last time I could barely walk because the bite on my knee made me unable to bend my leg. This time, the bite on my hand was so swollen it was painful. I took a lot of Benadryl, which means I got a lot of sleep, and kept ice on my hand for 3 days straight.

The biter is still floating around our house somewhere. I only know because the b-word just flew by my head. Good news is Dan did some research and learned that only pregnant females bite you and they only eat once. Bad news is that now I know that mosquitos can live 100 days. And there’s a pregnant one flying around our abode, trying to lay her eggs.

I immediately checked every sink and shower to make sure it wasn’t clogged and flushed every toilet for good measure. There will be no standing water in this house for the next 100 days.

There is however quite a bit of standing water outside, due to last night’s downpour. Anyone want to volunteer to come over and drain these mini ponds? Perhaps pour some bleach into them? I’d ask Dan but he’s currently in class. And going out there to do it myself seems like I’m asking for trouble.

I’m a prisoner in my own home. Because of a bug.

Dear Fall TV Lineup,

I admit, sometimes I have you on just as background noise. I don’t pay as much attention to you as you’d prefer. I’m sure this has caused some hurt feelings and tension but I am only one woman. I can’t watch everything all the time.
My Tivos are getting lonely. They sit empty, pathetically suggesting reruns of Full House. While I love me some Uncle Jesse, I can only handle so much of the Olsen twins in one sitting. The Olympics were a fun distraction but now? Now I’m not even fast forwarding through the commercial breaks, because it helps the entire experience seem to last longer.
Please hurry back. I know we’ve had some hard times but really, you’ve been away for long enough.

I’ve missed you.

With Love,
S