Thursday, February 18, 2010

I Don't Want to Grow Up! Can I be a Toys R Us Kid Forever?

It's almost Friday. I, for one, am rather glad about this. I'm sure I've written that before and I will again but it's a sentiment worth repeating, I think.

It hasn't been a bad week. It's been a short week, something that always helps. It's been a cold week, too. Last night, lying in bed, I listened to the scariest creaks and moans from my house. Given that I've just 'published' a book about a demon who haunts a woman who isn't, um, terribly unlike me, my imagination started to go wild.

I shortly curtailed that thought process in favour of reality. Unfortunately, reality was scarier. I started to think that the icicles on my house were rather large and, therefore, heavy. I have some that are, seriously, five feet long. Until yesterday, I was quite proud of this. I mean, honestly, that's some icicle!

And then I went to bed and my house was creaking and moaning. After I cast aside the idea that there was a demon in my attic, I started to think of the reality: There is, at least, five inches of snow on my roof. There are, in places, five feet of icicles hanging from my gutter. Which is worse, a paranormal creature haunting me or the idea of my roof caving in?

I'll have you know, at 11:30 p.m. at night, lying in a dark bedroom, trying to sleep, the idea of a roof caving in is scarier than a demon.

I know! Crazy, isn't it? You'd think I'd be more alarmed about the sound of footsteps in my attic. But as I started to let reality creep in, the footstep sounds transformed into the sound of the boughs of my house starting to sag under the weight of all that snow and ice.

Until now, I'd been proud that my roof was always covered with snow longer than anyone else's. I thought that meant I had better insulation. It probably did. Then I started to wonder how bad it was that my poor roof was so weighed down that it was starting to protest with gentle groans. Thus...I began to panic.

I think I've officially become a grown-up. Once upon a time, my imagination would have pictured a demon in my attic, a ghost floating above me...everything that Stephen King could inspire and then some. These days, the idea of a collapsed roof presents far more nightmares than a genuine ghost.

I want to know when this happened. I like to pinpoint significant moments in my life and I have a feeling that when I made the real, actual, genuine transition to being a full-blown adult occured, it was significant.

I can't figure it out. I currently am listening to an iTunes playlist I made a week ago and it contains everything from Green Day to Muse to Miley Cyrus to Sacha Baron Cohen singing "I like to Move it, Move it" from Madagascar. Even now, it gives me the urge to call my good friend in Pasadena, CA and say, "hey, know what I like to do?" and when she says, "No," I say "I like to move it, move it."

So when did I really grow up? I'm not sure I really have.

Except there's that teeny-tiny, miniscule fact that I'm more concerned about the expense and inconvenience of my roof caving in than having some evil creature haunt me.

I think it's safe to say that, darn it all, I've become an adult.

I'm groaning as I type this.

I may still hide behind my age by going to Green Day concerts. After all, they're older than me, therefore, it's still cool when I go and watch them play. I still like TV shows like Gossip Girl (don't judge me, please. It's Saz's fault...she got me hooked). But I can, at least, see the differences between their generation and mine. I may still read young adult novels for the story and plot. But I do see the reality, even if it makes me cringe.

For example, I do tend to want to clomp the 'heroine' in the head when she turns out to be Bella Swann from Twilight. I'm not even a mother but I still have the urge to slap her when you find out when she's not stopping a 'guy' from watching her while she sleeps. Ok, so he's immortal and he's a vampire. Yet it's still creepy. I don't care if he doesn't need to sleep. I don't care that Bella loves him. It's still creepy. If Edward Cullen can get into your room while you sleep, that means other non-vampire men can do so. Therefore...creepy. Also, really, Edward? You want to watch a girl while she sleeps? Sorry to break it to you but we females aren't so different from males: We snore, drool and move in our sleep...just like you. I'd think that was awfully boring to watch, even if you love us.

To put this in a more realistic context: I love Iron Chef America on the Food Network. It was the show that got me hooked on wanting to cook. I love all of the Iron Chefs and I root for them, regardless of the competitor. Yet there are times when they make me have to consider eating, say, a fish heart or pig's brain that I say: "No, Iron Chef....that's just not pleasant!"

It's not about the taste, it's about the actuality. It's disgusting in theory. In reality, I'm sure it's delicious but I stop before I get that far.

Hence the comparison to teenage vampire lovin'. Ok, so the idea of Edward Cullen staring at you while you sleep may seem romantic...yet, in actuality, it's twisted. He doesn't need to sleep but instead of doing something useful like composing a symphony, writing a novel or even creating a new recipe, he puts aside all that to just...stare at you...while you sleep.

It's creepy. It's wrong. It's just....such a teenage idea.

Hence the fact that I recognize the fact that I'm now a curmudgeonly grown-up. I don't like to think I've lost the idea of romance but I do think I've shed the illusion that romance can be completely silly, completely separate from reality. I've just started reading the novel Outlander and already I sort of want to slap the heroine for being so obtuse. I haven't even got that far but I can see that the hero is going to be 'James', the hero who was wounded when he met his love but grew to be a brave saviour.

Reality isn't so easy. I wish it could be. Sometimes, I wish men and women could walk around with coloured stickers on them so that all we had to do was find the person with the same coloured sticker as the one we were wearing and, voila!, that was our mate. Alas, it does not work that way. Instead, we have to go for awkward coffee/dinner dates with men that an online dating site thinks is right for us because a number of variables on our profiles matches.

I sound bitter. I'm not. I just feel like sometimes I'm too much of an adult and that I should figure out how to cast reality aside in favour of the fictional perfection that I covet in life. I think, in truth, it's up to us. Online dating sites can apply their logical computerized formula to match us but it's the actuality that matters: Do I like him? Is he man enough to call me? Is he actually going to ask me questions about me or talk about Ultimate Frisbee for two hours? Is he really looking for a relationship or just a quickie?

The thing is, I don't think it really matters. While I may have become an adult, ready to worry about the reality of scary matters, I'm still able to step back and realize that sometimes it's nice to be immature, to regress back to the days where idealisation overruled practicality.

Of course, when it comes down to the fact that idealisation costs money, I become exceedingly practical....which I suppose means I've become a fully-fledged grown up.


I suppose you have to grow up sometime. I just don't want to. Say, is that footsteps in my attic, I hear. Perhaps it's a demon! Maybe I should investigate....who cares is my gutter is falling!

Nope, can't do it. Damn it all....I'm a grown up. No matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise.

Happy Friday...and have a great weekend!

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