10 Signs You're Getting Old AF
A while back, I turned 30 (in April). And when I did, I'm almost certain I made a big to-do about how it didn't effect me and I didn't feel old and omg why does everyone make such a stink about turning 30 — it's so not a big deal.
While all that is still more or less true, it's hit me lately that I'm getting old(er) and I don't like it. In fact, as recently as June, I wrote about the pros and cons of being young versus being old. Well, my friends, today I'm feeling cynical. Complaints and negativity are the names of today's game, so I hope you're up for playing. These are signs I consider tip-offs that you're getting old AF, and I hope you're able to commiserate with me. After all, if us old fucks don't have each other, who do we have?
You're literally always tired.
No like. Literally always. Gone are the days where you say "I'm so tired" just to fill conversation when you know damn well you got a solid nine hours last night and fully plan on staying up until 1am tonight (today? I hate that) for no reason. When you're old AF, tired is truly tired. Tired is going to bed at 9:30pm or 10pm(10:30pm at the latest), sleeping like the dead until your alarm goes off, and still feeling like you got hit by the exhaustion train the next day. Every day. Tired is knowing that even if you went to bed at 7pm, it wouldn't help. Tired is your new normal. This is life now. There's no escaping it.
You get heart burn/indigestion just by looking at food.
Whereas pregaming for a night out on the town used to involve overly strong, homemade cocktails, the occasional shot, and loud music, now you get ready for a wild night out by bumping a new episode of your favorite podcast and shooting back a Pepcid AC before you head out the door. I can't tell you how many times I've flirted with the idea of keeping a small stash of them in my purse, but my pride won't allow it. I refuse to be packing Pepcid because, when that happens, I'll know. I'll know I've reached the point of no return, that I am now the 30-year-old broad who's trying to enjoy her level five spicy Pad Thai, but knows how prone she is to heartburn and has backup at the ready. I won't do it. But I'll be damned if getting heart burn in the middle of a Saturday night while out on the town trying to remain relevant isn't the GD WORST.
You want to get rid of everything you own right now.
Hoarding is for your 20s. When you realize the truth of your age, suddenly the desire to get rid of everything you've ever worn, lived in, sat upon, or claimed as yours is overwhelming. You want it all gone and you want it gone RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. Hence, my epic closet cleanout this summer. I'd always grazed my closet for rejects, getting rid of things here and there. Sometimes I had what I considered massive cleanouts. However, that all changed this June when I invited local celeb and best friend Fashion Jackson to come over and do her worst in terms of telling me how bad my clothing collection had become. It was brutal. I was left with next to nothing. Okay, not really but we literally cleared out half my closet and it felt ELECTRIC. It made me free and light. For further evidence, this was me at the end of it all. JOYOUS.
Now I just want to burn all my furniture, kitchenware, and entire house down and start over. NBD.
Your worrisome thoughts increase tenfold.
You're never not going to worry if you're friends are hanging out without you, if that stranger you just made eye contact with in Target is talking shit on you to her friend, or if you left the curling iron on or not. These are worries that are engrained in us from a young age and hang around throughout most of our lives. But when you're getting old AF, your worrisome attention shifts. While you're still stressing out over if you'll be invited to that one wedding that you don't even necessarily want to go to but at least need an invite to, now you're also worried about money. And how at-risk you are for common midlife diseases. And how you'll ever buy a house with your joke of a savings account. And how your parents are getting older. And whether or not you should look into freezing your eggs in the next five years since the fuck boy epidemic shows no signs of collapse. Most nights involve you waking up no less than three times throughout your sleep for 2-min stints to worry about what this month's air conditioning bill is going to look like and if you truly portion-controlled dinner tonight and what you would do tomorrow if you were hit with a large and unexpected financial expense because your savings is a joke??? OMG just writing this paragraph has spiked my anxiety tenfold. BRB, need to practice deep breathing.
You don't understand how people buy houses.
Maybe I'm alone in this one, but I literally do not understand how this happens? I mean, it's going on every day so I understand it's not impossible. Clearly. But the reality of putting 20% down on a home hits you in the face and you're like LOL BUT WHY WOULD I EVER HAVE THAT TYPE OF MONEY TO GIVE YOU RIGHT NOW? Joint bank accounts help, but I don't have that. Enormous salaries help, but that's a no-go. Parents chipping in is a thing, but I'm currently trying to pay them back for last month's Nordstrom bill so going in together on a house is probably not an option. Loans. I know those are also a thing. I just. I'm ignorant to it, I guess. But it literally blows my mind how frequently it happens and with people MUCH YOUNGER THAN MYSELF. Like HOW?! HOW. ANSWER ME.
You go back to basics.
Perhaps it's just the personal phase I'm in, but super-funky-flower-headbands-and-fun-prints-and-really-bold-colors Emma is taking a breather. Whereas in college and even freshly out of it I migrated toward thrift store finds, funky cuts, and hipsterism in general, I'm finding that a simple tshirt, good jeans, and great shoes go a long way in the realm of trying to remain relevant but act your age. Truthfully, I'm struggling with this. I loved that Emma — the one with hair accessories for days and whacky, slightly ill-fitting tops from Urban. I still make heart eyes at those things when I go shopping, but my style has gotten ::gulp:: a bit more mature. That literally pains me to say. It's such a gross word. And, don't get me wrong, I know compared to most broads I'm still "hip" and "funky," but it's a different kind of hip and funky now and I'm working to accept that. Enter: a look like this. Overalls are funky and so is a playful cactus print shirt, but all in, it's a mature kind of funky. I'm figuring it out, guys. Day by day.
You actually give a shit about your friends.
When you're younger, you may think you give a shit about your friends. And you probably do. But when you're getting old AF, the care and love you feel for them triples. Whoever you claim as a best friend by the age of 30 is more than likely for life (unless they murder your dog or don't like every single Instagram picture you ever post or something devastating like that), which means the stakes of friendship are magnified. Maybe it's because we're way more selfish and self-centered as teens and young adults, but when you hit a certain age (I'm using 30 here because it's what I know), suddenly you stop taking your best friends for granted and want to do whatever you can to let them know THEY ARE YOUR LIFE BLOOD. DO YOU HEAR ME, GUYS? I LOVE YOU. I WOULD BE A SURROGATE FOR ANY OF YOU PROBABLY. IDK. WE'LL CROSS THAT BRIDGE IF WE COME TO IT, BUT IT'S POSSIBLY ON THE TABLE. My point is, if you haven't started treating your best friends better, start now. It's time.
You also give more shits about your parents.
Same idea here. I will be the first to admit I wasn't a stellar daughter in my early 20s. All I cared about was me, my friends, drinking, boys, me, boys, me, and my friends. And boy did they know it. My mom and I fought constantly like tweens on our periods. Her favorite word for me was "indignant." She called me that so much, I began to think it was my name.
She wasn't wrong. I was indignant AF. But I'm happy to report that I can't remember that last time she called me that. I don't know when the shift happened, but I snapped out of it. I finally realized I was a punk and would be literally and figuratively nothing without my parents. Now, I can't get enough of them (as you've probably witnessed via my Instagram stories). Your parents are the shit, guys. Recognize if you haven't yet.
You can't drink anymore.
Well, you can. But it's hard. However, it's not always hard and that's what makes it so terrible. It's a crap shoot as to whether you'll be a functioning human being the day after a night of drinking or not. Your tolerance fluctuates on the daily. For example, I had six glasses of wine the other weekend (SIX. THAT'S A BOTTLE AND A HALF, SO.) and woke up the next day feeling not dead. The late night Taco Bell might've had something to do with that, but I can't be sure. But on the other hand, my friends and I drank consistently throughout an entire Saturday for Whitney's bachelorette party and, even though I had my last drink at 7pm, Sunday was absolutely brutal. I was a whisper of myself and dead to the world. So, the moral is: Drinking after the age of 29 is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get. Taco Bell helps though.
Your patience is at its thinnest.
The last very telling sign that you're getting old AF is that your patience seems to disappear a little more each day. The 2016 election and entire year of 2017 hasn't helped anyone, but putting those two causes aside, getting older means getting wiser and getting wiser means becoming less and less patient with even the smallest whiff of bullshit. Slow walkers, drivers, talkers, and thinkers make you irrationally irate. Indecisiveness sends you over the edge. Having to heat up your lunch for another minute is going to put you in a mental ward one of these days. I get it. But, hey. Same here. Like I said, if we don't have each other in this getting old AF business, who do we have?