A Phat Ride and A Super Fly Chick
The Bibbed Wonder and I were talking the other day, and our conversation wandered down the path of things we took for granted when we were young. We spent an afternoon laughing over how times have changed for us, and phrases we used as slang in the 1990s now have a completely different definition.
I wish I had the energy and the wanton disregard of fear like I did when I was a kid. The world was full of possibility, time would never run out, and we had a lifetime to discover what and who would make us happy.
I’ve found my what and who that makes me happy. I’ve discovered a somewhat surprising and unorthodox passion for soap, goats, and farming. Despite years of lectures beginning with, “Why do you behave like such a knucklehead?
You have a good head on your shoulders if you would just use it!” I realize I kind of do have a good head on my shoulders… I’m still impulsive and don’t think things through from beginning to end all the time, but that’s part of my charm.
It keeps The Bibbed Wonder on his toes.
However, there are some amusing and apparent differences from 20-year-old me to almost 50-year-old me.
Do you remember when we had liquid lunches or liquid diets? In my twenties, this meant hitting the bar or a friend’s house with a considerable amount of alcohol and seeing where the day, party, and evening took us.
Now, it means a dietary shake as a meal replacement to keep up my energy, keep down my weight, and keep my body in proper working order. Sigh, I would prefer a Mudslide for lunch over a “meh tasting” shake any day.
Do you remember dancing to the Will Smith song Gettin’ Jiggy With It? I do. I danced on countless tables at random bars on Saturday nights with a drink in hand, surrounded by friends, having the time of my life. Now when I dance to Gettin’ Jiggy With It, there is much more of me to bounce and jiggle than when I was in my twenties. The very act of climbing onto a table, let alone dancing on a table, just makes me hurt. The song should be changed to Gettin’ Jiggley With It in my late forties.
In my twenties, I also remember thinking that I’m going to have a phat ride when I am grown-up. I imagined I would drive something small, cool, fast, preferably a convertible, most definitely foreign-made. Now, a phat ride is something that is easy for me to get in and out of, can haul my kid and all her stuff has leather seats to stand up to the dog and the kid, and has to have surround airbags to keep said kid safe. Someday, when I only have to drive me, myself, and I around, I will have a Mini Cooper convertible to get my groceries and run errands. By the time I’m responsible for only myself, the state will have probably revoked my driver’s license.
We used to use the word “Bling” a lot when I was in my twenties. Bling was anything sparkling, diamonds, designer clothes, amazing shoes with six-inch heels. Now, bling is the sparkle of a new goat’s collar glinting in the sun or a shiny new stainless steel industrial immersion blender. It also is anything polished, industrial, and stainless steel for soap making—my goats wear more jewelry than I do. My engagement ring is safely tucked away for The Bear someday. My wedding band is somewhere safe in the house that I put it so I wouldn’t lose it, but now I can’t remember where that safe place is located. I wear diamond stud earrings when I go out in public, which is never, and my bling is now silver hoop earrings that go with everything. The goats don’t care if I sparkle. The Bibbed Wonder says I look more beautiful in farm gear than he’s ever seen anyone look. He thinks I’m sexy when I mow the lawn…sigh. Bling has an entirely different meaning in my late 4o’s.
In my twenties, the phrase, “take a chill pill!” was thrown around a lot. It meant to calm down, relax, stop acting like a tool. Now, I literally take a chill pill because I can’t turn down my anxiety. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t need one often. However, when I watched my dad lose his battle with cancer, my anxiety was through the roof. My doctor prescribed Xanax on an as-needed basis. I’ve had the same bottle of pills for over five years…I know, I know, they have a one-year expiration date…no lectures, please. I’m just using it as an example of how little I use it. However, after a week in front of the television nursing a nasty stomach bug and watching the world fall apart, I have taken a “chill pill” the past two nights. I could definitely benefit from some baby goat time. Baby goats are soothing.
One last phrase from the nineties has an entirely different meaning. Do you remember when kids walked around saying, “Oh, Snap!” I hated that phrase. I thought it was annoying. When I was young, it meant you’d been burned, or someone got over on you verbally. Now, at almost 50, “Oh, Snap!” is the sound my knees make going up the stairs. It is the sound my shoulder makes when I exercise. It is the sound my hips make when I stand up. Snapping and Popping used to be cool dance moves; now, they are the sounds of protest from my joints. Have you visited a retirement home lately? The music they play over the loudspeakers is from the 1950s and 1960s. The music would have been popular when the community’s residents were young. When I am old, do you think they will play Eminem, Sugar Ray, Tupac, Puff Daddy, Coolio, and the Notorious B-I-G? I do love me some 90’s rap!
These are such funny things to contemplate as we grow older and our youth moves farther away from us. Life takes us on such unusual and interesting paths.
My life now looks nothing like what I imagined as a kid. The things that were important to me then are shallow distant memories. Sometimes, I wonder if that girl from my youth still exists inside me. Every once in a while, someone acts like a total ass hat, and my hibernating mean girl awakens with a vengeance. However, most of the time, the level-headed, peacemaking, think before you speak, will this response change the outcome questioning adult is strong and present. I would be unstoppable if I could meld my 50-year-old mindset with my 20-year-old body. Alas, I’ll take my phat self, in my almost minivan, with my protein shakes, blaring nineties rap, and happily drive my superfly kid wherever her little heart desires.
As always, dear reader, stay safe, be smart, remember you’re still a badass in your own right, and keep washing those hands.