what a drag it is...
Once upon a time, I'd spend Saturday nights dancing in heels so high they'd threaten to make me tipsier than the frou-frou drinks I actually was getting tipsy on, and when the drinks were through, I'd be awake until Sunday doing scandalous things with a scandalous man. The kind of things that would make my cheeks blush as crimson as the grenadine that had been splashed in my drinks.
This Saturday night, I gave my dog a bath, then vacuum packaged 10 pounds of ground beef to store away in my freezer (after calling three people to tell them what a great deal I'd gotten on it at the grocery store earlier in the afternoon), all while test driving these bad boys to see if I'd be able to tolerate wearing them while being on my feet 20+ hours week:
Those are some very sexy size 10 wides 'You're This Close To Giving Up' sneakers from the Dr. Scholl Lunch Lady line. And, yes, friends, they most definitely have a comfort gel insole. Am I gellin', you ask? Oh, yes. I'm gellin' like a felon. Like a felon who was granted early release for good behavior. Like after an hour.
The only thing even slightly similar between my nights of then and now is the involvement of meat, where 'meat' isn't actually 'meat,' but more a metaphor meat. The latter me shouldn't even elude to that, though, because it's embarrassing. The former me wouldn't be embarrassed to say that, of course. The former me would have even giggled about it, tipsy on rum rollovers or not.
Once upon a time, I would have written about my past Saturday nights in a journal and relived them with a smile. This Saturday night, I'm posting a blog post, and in 10 minutes, I'll wake myself up when either my snoring gets so loud I scare myself or the book I started reading when I climbed into bed alone falls and smacks me in the nose.
I'd like to say that was the old me, but THIS is clearly the old me.
The only thing even slightly similar between my nights of then and now is the involvement of meat, where 'meat' isn't actually 'meat,' but more a metaphor meat. The latter me shouldn't even elude to that, though, because it's embarrassing. The former me wouldn't be embarrassed to say that, of course. The former me would have even giggled about it, tipsy on rum rollovers or not.
Once upon a time, I would have written about my past Saturday nights in a journal and relived them with a smile. This Saturday night, I'm posting a blog post, and in 10 minutes, I'll wake myself up when either my snoring gets so loud I scare myself or the book I started reading when I climbed into bed alone falls and smacks me in the nose.
I'd like to say that was the old me, but THIS is clearly the old me.
Labels: look like their mothers did now when we were those kids age
posted by for a different kind of girl @ 10:20 PM
16 Comments:
Yes, I have a pair of those shoes. Now that I don't need them for work, I am saving them to wear as lawn mowing shoes. I did however, keep my dancing shoes from when I was a free spirit. Once in awhile I put them on and smile a little secret smile knowing exactly where they've been.
Aaah...but just think if our dancing shoes or underwear could talk!
It happens. . .
I'm guessin' you don't really miss those old days with the metaphorical 'meat' all that much. . .
OMG! Parallel lives! I was in my robe by 6 pm yesterday. Very cool. And I've been a "woman in comfortable shoes" for many years.
Huh... I know many women and men have different views on the whole 'comfy shoe thing'... but I've also often been grateful that even when I'm wearing "the black wingtip type ugh"... they can in men's shoes anyway, be comfortable...
so, more power to the gellin!
(and, who the heck says you can't allude to the meat?)
It took me a good few minutes to remember what I did Saturday (that's two days ago) night; it was that riveting.
I spent Sat nite huddled in the basement trying to convince the kids that the end of the world, via Irene, wasn't upon us no matter what the media said.
It's good to be right once in a while.
I hate when the book smacks me in the face! On the positive side, it DOES wake me up to go to bed!
I like those shoes. And I like getting to bed by 11 on Saturday. And I like not smelling like cigarettes and spilled beer when I wake up on Sunday. And, damn it, I LIKE YOU!
Ok, now I'm depressed. I really, really, really hope there are folks out there our age who DO have a life!
I often think the same thing, but the nice thing is that those young whippersnappers off doing titillating things with metaphorical meat will soon be old, just like us.
Hmmm, never lived that life. Does that mean I've always been the old me?
Go ahead, tell me. I can take it ....
BTW- those look comfy
verif: surelady ....
Hello dear!!! I hope you're doing well, and I'm sorry I haven't poked my head in here in awhile.
I spent Saturday night ... um... I really don't remember. I know it was something... Oh, my husband stopped at Chipotle and got dinner for us (as an apology for being a jerk in the morning) and I did a lot of laundry. I think my husband went through our filing cabinet.
Wow. That trip down memory lane was a real downer...
"gellin' like a felon"! I am laughing almost as hard as I was when I read that prom post that introduced me to your blog way back when (ALMOST - I still cry laughing when I think about how you referred to your teenage self as a MILF). This is too funny. And yes - those shoes need to go on AFTER you enter the door at work and be taken off BEFORE you leave to go home (like a reverse Tess McGill). Promise me that?
listen, if you ever do get wild and crazy again "meat metaphor" would be a great name for a rock band.
I spent last Saturday night folding laundry and watching something unmemorable on tv. completely un-altered.
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