2005-11-04 - 4:41 p.m.
Seriously, do I get less fun and clever as I get older or is my sister just really fucking funny? Seriously.
I hit that stride about three weeks ago, you know, where you've decided that, although it's fun to declare, year-in and year-out, that you don't need to worry about any sort of "plan," that you will, in fact, "be famous" and that will indeed take care of bills, spare time, benefits, dwelling, automobiles, compromises on where to live, how to live, and how many children to bring in to the world, etc, you do need to figure something out. You need to figure out where your income is coming from, how much spare time you have to commence aforementioned "being famous," how to function, where to function, who to function with, and how many fledgling functioners to bring into the world. Or rather I need to figure these things out. You can all figure out whatever for yourselves.
So, after all of this talk and these ideas of becoming an adult, after I had it all squared away in the ol' noggin that I was, in fact, "getting my shit together," I found myself sitting on the floor in my living room last night, surrounded by every cd I've ever owned from Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell II (first cd purchase, 12 years old) to this one My Bloody Valentine cd I snatched from my uncle last spring, jackets tossed willy-nilly, drinking a Budweiser (my fifth drink of the evening, preceded by three double vodka/sodas and the first Budweiser), instructing Jaret to "listen here, no.....HERE, LISTEN HERE, this is the best part, llllliiiiiiiiiiissssssssttttttennnn, wait for it, wait for it, listen, dammit!" I made the poor bastard listen to every Ani Difranco song I ever loved, half of my Ash collection (which is small considering their body of work in the grand scheme of things, but it'll sure suck your night away if you let it), old Aimee Mann, and I TOLD that fucker what he was gonna like and why he was gonna like it.
I am all growns up.
Because I've turned into my fucking mother.
