This was a hard one. My creative juices are running kind of low today.
Anyway, here are five ways I’m the same as my younger self:
1. I like the same music. I have this Crazy Little Thing Called Love for anything from the 80s. And although I stopped trying to be a Valley Girl, I’m married to a Sharp Dressed Man, who drives a not-so-Fast Car, and we have three Kids In America. My Sharona! I think that was the dumbest thing I have ever written in my entire life.
2. My humor is the same. I still love a good fart joke and my favorite phrase, that makes me laugh every time I hear it, is, “I crapped in my pants.” I know. It’s so 11 years old. Isn’t it funny?
3. I’m still a narcissist. But aren’t we all? Who doesn’t love talking about themselves, promoting themselves, getting compliments about themselves?
By the way, have you seen my Top Five most-viewed posts?
If you haven’t read them, you’ll love them. Then leave a comment, letting me know how great they are.
4. I’m still shy. When I was younger my mom would take me to her office and show me around. She showed me to her co-workers so they could see how much I’d grown. I would hide behind her leg and, ever so sweetly, peek my little freckled face around with a small smile, and whisper ‘hi’. This was all cute until I was still peeking around at age 17. Then it was just awkward.
5. I meant four. This is a list of four things that are the same as when I was young.
Five ways I’m different than my younger self:
1. I dress differently. Way worse. As a teen, I could rock some Palmetto black & yellow plaid pegged pants. These days I rock my sweat pants.
2. I love to read now. I didn’t always hate reading when I was younger. I flew through The Boxcar Children and the Judy Blume books. But something happened when I got to middle school. I think it was the books they required us to read. I hated them. I found no joy in reading. So, I didn’t read anything for pleasure, except BOP and TigerBeat, until I was in college. Then I started reading again. Reading is good. It makes me a better writer…unless I’m writing this post.
3. I no longer pick my nose and wipe it on the wall at the height of a seven-year old, and then lie about it when my mother asks who did it and blame it on my one-year old sister. Gross. With age comes wisdom. And strategy. The bottom of a shoe? It’s bringing in dirt from the outside anyway. Or the sheet on a bed, when the tissue box is just. Too. Far. To. Reach. So why not? Just wipe that Dirty Sanchez on the sheets. They’re gonna get washed in a few months anyway.
4. I no longer have OCD. I used to believe that I had this imaginary string (It was really more like a band. It was really wide. And it was blue.) hanging out of my back, like Woody from The Toy Story. The little plastic circle tied to the string was attached to it’s starting location – my living room – and whenever I walked forward, more string was let out.
So, if I ever walked around a pole, I always had this nagging feeling like my band was being wrapped up and tangled. So I would walk back around the pole in the opposite direction to get untangled. When I would enter a building, I had to exit the building through the same door. Sometimes my friends would tease me about my band and run circles around me, and get stuck in it. Then I would frantically run back around them trying to untangle them. I don’t think they were really my friends though.
5. I have three kids. I used to have stuffed animals and Barbie dolls. Now I have kids. This is the worst post I have ever written.