|A date night with the BHE in 2011|
Warning: Non-medical, non-important post ahead. Proceed with caution. (Or to my archives on the right if you prefer something deeper.)
Alright. So check it. Last Friday evening we had child care for the whole night. The BHE and I had a lovely date night -- fairly standard date night activity: dinner and a movie.
Dinner was late. Like 8:30 or so. Which meant that the only movies we could catch started in the ten o'clock hour. So we clinked our wine glasses and decided to go for it since our kids were at a sleep over.
And so. We went to Phipps Plaza to check out the movie of Harry's choice since it was his turn. And "his turn" always means one of the following categories:
- things blowing up
- fast car chase scenes
- Jennifer Aniston
- things blowing up
- soldiers blowing things up
- any movie similar to the movie Gladiator
- any movie similar to Braveheart
- things blowing up
- somebody being a spy
- somebody spying on Jennifer Aniston
- somebody with a vendetta
- somebody blowing somebody up over a vendetta about Jennifer Aniston
Well. As it turns out, Jennifer Aniston is all in love these days and doesn't seem to be doing much work. So we decided on the new Denzel Washington movie called "Safe House." Oh, and in case you're thinking of seeing it? Trust that it hit every single one of Harry's categories except for gladiators and Jennifer Anniston. Otherwise it was a slam dunk.
One problem though. The only showing left of "Safe House" at Phipps Plaza started at 10:50 PM. And. We had just eaten.
We were KNOCKED OUT in that theater. Do you hear me? Those explosions and special effects served as nothing more to us than a gigantic sonic-booming alarm clock without a snooze button. Our repetitive startling into wakefulness got to be so comical that finally we just had to call it a night. We had to before somebody started snoring. Or got whiplash.
Oh. Did I mention? There were still about thirty to forty-five minutes left in the movie. And it was literally the climax. We have no idea how it ended.
When we got into the lobby (which was empty) we couldn't help but LOL at how ridiculously lame we are. I mean. . .who does that? Like who pays five trillion dollars for a feature movie and then walks out on it--not because they are highly offended or because it's such a bad movie--but simply because they're. . .well. . . kinda sleepy? Who does that?
Answer: People over 40, that's who.
All this business about 40 being the new 20 or 30 being the new 20 or anything being the new anything is a terribly unfortunate trend. (Just ask Demi Moore.) 40 is not even the new twenty. I don't care what size jeans you can fit into. Period. End of story.
And so. Inspired by Friday's epic failure-slash-comical attempt at late-night gallivanting, I bring you this week's top ten:
TOP TEN EVIDENCE-BASED REASONS WHY THE ONLY "NEW TWENTY" IS TWENTY -- SORRY, Y'ALL.
#10 -- Closing up shop.
People in their twenties do talk about birth control--that's a known fact. But they rarely spend their time talking about permanent forms of it.
Real discussion overheard in the hair salon:
"Girl, I told him it's his turn."
"Really? My man said he ain't letting nobody go near him with no knife. I went ahead and got mine tied up during that last c-section."
"Mmmm, well you better than me. I made him an appointment with the urologist and was like, 'It's all you, boo.'"
"Did it give him problems with his. . .you know?"
"Aww hell naw!"
"Hey! You know they got something now where they burn your uterus with a laser. No pregnancy and no monthly, girl! Dead serious!"
"Does it hurt?"
"They knock you out."
"Damn. . . .no monthly? Is it covered by Aetna?"
"Ooooohh Aetna? Girl, I don't know about that. You know Aetna is a trip."
"Dang, that sounded like the bomb."
#9 Busting a move(ment)
When I was in my twenties it seemed like everyone I knew had perfectly working innards. Even if they didn't, at least they all had so much going on that bowel movements never seemed to be a topic of conversation. I don't recall anyone discussing which foods or supplements would help you get thing going nor do I ever remember hearing my friends refer to themselves as "regular."
But once you are in your mid-thirties and beyond, it seems like for about 67% of people -- the bowels go on strike. Picketing in your bathroom shouting "We shall not be moved!"
(Ah hem. I am NOT in that 67%, thank you very much.)
So yeah. You know you ain't twenty-something anymore when you don't feel the least bit embarrassed about buying Fibersure or Benefiber or hearing your spouse make disgusting jokes and announcements like the ones that I may or may not have heard in the last 48 hours:
(preceded by exaggerated hand clapping)
"Alright! Looks like these Browns are gon' finally going to make it to the Super Bowl!"
*sorry, just threw up in my mouth a little bit.*
Verdict: Even if you are "regular" -- you are officially out of your twenties if you have discussed or thought of bowel movements any in the last 72 hours.
#8 -- Two for the price of one.
When you're out of your twenties you start getting real particular about what makes an outing "sitter-worthy." If the plan is just to talk junk with your girlfriends and open up Costco or Trader Joes' wine, it's hard to see why a whole BABYSITTER night should be wasted on that. Having your kids and their kids at the same time cancels everything out! First, turn on the Wii or bust out some Legos for the kids. Second, open up that vino and enjoy it with some kind of dip that one of you made from a recipe out of "Real Simple." Third, Sit around and talk about permanent forms of contraception.
Verdict: If somebody is washing dishes and discussing their bowels on your Saturday girls' night, you are 100% beyond your twenties.
#7 -- Same page.
Childless people in their twenties find it kind of cute when someone periodically meets them out for lunch with a kid in tow. Well, not us. Me and my friends have this simple rule that we all abide by:
When I don't have my kids, I don't want to see yours. Either it's a kid-friendly situation or it's a grown-folks gathering. Period.
There's nothing worse than winning rock, paper, scissors with your spouse for a kid-free pass only to get ambushed by that last minute text from a friend saying that they are bringing their kid along. Aww hell naw! Look. . . I need to be able to talk about grown-folks topics without spelling out the expletives. And to be able to eat without scooting a booster seat closer to the table and cutting up somebody's food. Unless of course we have already agreed that it's going to be that kind of evening.
Isn't that terrible for me to actually say?
Well, too bad. It's true.
Verdict: Kid times and Kid-free times need to be respected. For reals. And if you have a last minute change of plans, the rule is that you have to tell the friend so they have time to get their kids, too, and SAVE their precious kid-free pass for later.
#6 -- We card.
Have you ever noticed that people well out of their twenties become extremely interested in age? Like, when I used to read People magazine as a twenty-something, I could give a crap less about whether Heidi Klum was in her thirties or Halle Berry was almost fifty. But just cross that thirty threshold. Man. Even it you don't realize that you care you find yourself scanning that first paragraph for the part that says:
"Manning, 41, says her husband is the BHE."
What's funny is that the magazines all know this now so they give us ages even when it is TOTALLY irrelevant to the story.
Paula Deen, 56, baked a hummingbird cake. Nicole Ritchie, 31, loves black eyeliner. Bobby Brown, 45, kissed Whitney's casket. Bobbi Kristina Brown, 18, wishes y'all would stop talking so much crap about her daddy. Aretha Franklin, 71, was supposed to sing at the funeral but was under the weather. Dionne Warwick, 68, didn't realize that Aretha couldn't make it. Will Smith, 45, looked really hot in I am Legend.
Ah hem. You get the picture.
Verdict: For whatever reason, we card people when we get out of our twenties. This can be especially encouraging or discouraging depending upon who and what the topic happens to be.
#5 -- Your ideal Britney.
I've said this before but will say it again -- when you get out of your twenties--and especially after you drop a baby or two--your ideal body image changes.
I like to think of it in Britney Spears' stages of hotness:
|Ideal Britney for person in high school or in their twenties|
|Post baby ideal for real! I see this and think,"You betta WORK, Miss Britney!"|
|Left: What our husbands see no matter what. Right: What we see (give or take 10 inches)|
That picture of Britney in the black would make me immediately scan the article for her age so I could feel better. Ha. If it says seventeen, I'd say, "Figures." If it says thirty seven I'd say, "Photoshopped, mm hmmm." Ha.
Verdict: Growing older gives you more nerves and more curves!
#4 -- Hair? There? Everywhere.
Twenty-somethings think about things like highlights, bangs, and products when it comes to hair. Get well into those thirties or cross over the 40 rock then that all changes. Yes, you care about highlights, bangs and products. But you also spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the hair that shouldn't be there (if you're a woman) and the hair that should be there (if you're a guy.)
The whole thing is jacked up.
Verdict: If you keep a pair of tweezers in your car and if me saying this makes you laugh out loud, you are definitely not in your twenties anymore.
#3 -- Baseboards.
If you actually know what they are and give a damn whether or not they are clean, you are no longer in your twenties.
Verdict: Grown folks approach cleaning up different than the young-uns.
#2 -- Two step.
What is the deal with all people over 35 doing the "two step" whenever they dance? This is where you snap and nod your head while stepping from side to side in front of your partner. Then you see some young person dancing so hard and so well that you lose the beat and realize that you look like a person with exactly zero rhythm.
Now. Let's just say you DO have mad skills on the dance floor still but are over 40. The problem with that is that if you unleash your moves too much, you look ridiculous. Even if you are doing it right. Harry calls it "Old brutha in da club." He always says that that's who you never want to be. How to know if that's who you are? If your kids look at you like this while you are dancing: 0_0 -----> You need to go back to the two step.
Anty-who. The only caveat is a resort vacation or the wedding reception or cookout of a very close friend. Then and only then are you authorized to drop it like it's hot while doing your two step. For all other times, stick to what you know.
Verdict: The only thing worse than the "two step" is being the "old brutha in da club."
#1 -- Doing you.
In your twenties there are so many things that make it hard to "do you." For starters, you're likely broke as hell so that always makes "doing you" tricky. Second, you are either very junior on your job or still in school. Which takes me back to reason #1. But the main thing is that you just haven't lived long enough to eff enough things up yet and learn from it.
Now I do know some super mature twenty-somethings who technically seem like they are much older. But most of the time, the person thinks they are in this place but really have no idea what being a forty-something really entails.
In other words, the best thing you can ever do is. . .you. About to turn thirty? Own it, chile. Knocking on forty? Work it, honey. Well into your fifties and pushing up on sixty? Baby, give you best "two step" and when nobody's looking, go on ahead and drop it like it's hot. Because doing you includes accepting you. And accepting all of the years you have under your belt.
Verdict: Twenty is still twenty. Thirty is still thirty. Forty is still forty. And word on the street is fifty is when all the fun starts.
No matter what age you are. . . .
Just WORK it. . . .
OWN it. . . .
and if that's not enough. . . . go on ahead and drop it like it's hot. :)
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .this always makes me want to work it!