When Did I Get So Lame?

When I was 22, I found myself in the backseat of a sportscar that was tearing through dark, winding back roads, going about 80 mph. I was with my brother and his friends, who were all about 17 or 18, and I was the only one in the car that was genuinely terrified. As I clutched desperately to the door handle and fumbled to make sure my seatbelt was securely fastened, a realization hit me with the force of the oncoming semi I fully anticipated to be coming around every corner we whipped past. The halcyon days of youthful indistructability had somehow slipped by me. I hadn't even noticed. For a moment, my fear was replaced by an unfamiliar, aching longing - I think they call it nostalgia - as I tried in vain to muster up some teenage bravado.

Somehow, six years passed between that moment and the moment I experienced last night (no, we didn't get hit by a semi that night, but you can be sure I never got in a car with that lunatic kid again). I was online, and I came across a video of Mandi Moore doing a cover of Rhianna's "Umbrella" song. "I like Mandi Moore," I commented to my boyfriend as it played. "She's so wholesome." When it was done, I turned to him and said, "I liked that!" He turned in his chair to look at me with a bemused look on his face. He didn't have to say anything. Like a bolt of lightening, it struck me: "Oh my God. I'm lame."

My inner cool kid chafed at the suggestion that I might not be as hip as I used to be, and struggled to find evidence to the contrary. I'm still cool! Right? Right??

Hm. I had forced the boyfriend to sit through "Under the Tuscan Sun" earlier that day. That wasn't very cool of me. As I pondered it, more and more examples of my stodgyness sprang to mind:

I read labels. Not designer labels - the labels on food. I give a crap about calorie and fiber content.

I actually pay my bills. (Usually on time, too.)

I can't do shots of booze anymore. My body started rejecting the sudden influx of alcohol. I haven't yakked yet, but I always come close and vow Never To Do That Again while wiping the I-almost-just-puked tears from my eyes.

I go to the gym on a quasi-regular basis. I sometimes do yoga.

I normally don't get drunk on week nights. Sometimes, I just don't feel like going out. I'd rather stay at home and watch boob tube.

I go to the dentist twice a year.

I recently took down the Twister mat I was using as a wall hanging and replaced it with Actual Art.

I have a steady, corporate job that I don't actively hate. For the first time in many years, I don't dread the thought of going to work. It's not that I love it, I just don't mind it. Plus, it has a bitchin' 401K plan.

Maybe I have gone soft. Maybe I have lost the edginess of my youth. Know what, though? I don't really miss it. If you'll excuse me, I have to go floss now.