Tag Archives: Future Appearance

Tip #9: Enjoy the time when getting older was fun

March 2, 1995

Today is my birthday and we went to Freash Choice. Oh yes, I jest went into the wonderfull years of doble digets! I am 10!!


30th Birthday Celebration

30th Birthday Celebration

Oh, so cute! I remember the good-ole days when getting older was considered cool. The first fun birthday for me was when I was five; a whole hand! Then ten; double digits! 13=teenager! 16=driver’s license! 18=adult! The last special one was my 21st birthday. They call it Forever 21 for a very good reason.

Then there are the birthdays from 21 to 29. Those aren’t exactly fun, but they’re nothing. You’re in your twenties; who cares? Whatevs! You’re still young, not yet tied down with serious responsibilities. But everyone knows what comes after 29. NO! Shush your mouth; don’t say it out loud. I would know; I celebrated that dreaded birthday nine days ago.

Based on what society tells us, I should have spontaneously combusted on March 2nd, all proof of my youth and coolness obliterated. At the very least, my back should have given out, crow’s feet should have popped up, and blue varicose veins should have sprung from my liver-spotted flesh. Come to think of it, why didn’t I get Botox for my birthday? What was I thinking?

Rachel from Friends turns the year-after-29

Rachel from Friends turns the year-after-29

But surprise! I look and feel the same. I didn’t die or turn into a warty hag (subject to opinion). I remember watching a Friends episode where Rachel turned the-age-after-29 (I’m warning you; SHUT IT!) and acting like it was the end of the world. I was 16 at the time (driver’s license age, boo-yah!) and even then I thought that she was being stupid. When you’re 16, basically everyone seems old. And yes, she was old; I won’t deny that. But I also recognized that turning 30 wasn’t a big deal. She seemed so shallow and superficial. At the-age-after-29, Rachel was healthy; she was beautiful; she had friends and family who loved her. What more do you need in life? I was almost offended by the episode.

So remembering this thought that I had at 16 has helped me transition to that dreaded age. If, at 16 I thought that being 30 was no biggie, then it’s no biggie! Now I just need to get it in my head that turning the-age-after-39 is still young to help with that mentality over the next decade.

20616

Advertisements

Tip #118: Don’t think for a second that I will EVER wear destitute pirate pants

WP_20150123_18_17_42_ProLet’s try something different. Rather than respond to a diary entry, I’m going to analyze pictures that I drew in third grade. Now that I have my own house, my parents are making me clean out their basement, where we’ve stored all of my beloved childhood memories. Most have gone into the donate or toss piles, but some items are keepers. One box I discovered was full of my old school work; thousands of hours wasted and now transformed into musty recycled scraps. But one item that I found amusing was an assignment where I had to imagine myself in 20 years. I was 9 when I drew these, meaning that I am supposed to be 29 in these little pieces of art. Since I have one month left in my 29th year, I figured I should weigh in as to whether these are correct (spoiler alert: NO! Just no).


Future Me

Future Me

What I really look like

What I really look like

General Appearance. First, what’s up with my PANTS??!?! Am I supposed to be some sort of destitute pirate? And that top with an ugly daisy and blue fur cuffs? Thank GOD this isn’t a style. Not yet at least. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit. But more disturbing is that my hair is Little-Mermaid-red (I guess I could dye it, but not that color!) and that I have a hideous perm. And what’s up with that mole? Did I grow one? Or did I draw it on? Oh, I know; probably a zit.


Future occupation

Future occupation

Me at my real occupation

Me at my real occupation

Occupation. I don’t want this to come off as an insult to waitresses, but I have never been, nor will I ever be, a waitress. I don’t know why this was my dream job; aside from this (apparently), I’ve never considered waitressing for my occupation. It seems like such hard work! Being on your feet all day, remembering orders, fulfilling the requests of rude patrons, resisting the urge to spit in people’s food. Yeah, no. I’m not cut out for that. I’m an environmental consultant. I work in a cubicle. I write government documents. Guess that’s not as fun to draw.


Future Family

Future Family

Family. And there are the destitute pirate pants again! I sure hope those are the same pants and that I don’t own two different pairs. At least I have cute purple shoes with red laces. I also seem to own a cute dog and a cute baby. Looks like this dog is a some long-haired terrier or shih-tzu. Looks like the baby is a girl who either inherited her father’s red curly hair, or accompanied me to my hair salon for a dye and perm. Sadly, this illustration of domestic bliss would never happen. First (and again, don’t mean to offend anyone), I hate dogs. Especially little yappy, pure-bred ones like the asshole depicted here. I hope to have a child someday, but it hasn’t

Real Family

Real Family

happened yet. And unless I find myself a new husband, my child won’t have curly red hair (or, at least, according to 23andMe). And let’s be honest: if I had a red-head child, I wouldn’t dress her in pink; the colors clash terribly. Instead, I’m a cat person. My rescue tabby cat is WAY better than a snooty shih-tzu; plus, Pocahontas actually looks good in pink dresses. And the only child I have is my husband. Who, by the way, seems to be missing from my future family portrait. I had a crush on a few boys in third grade, so it’s not like they weren’t on my radar. Was I some sort of feminist, raising a dog and baby on my own? Or did I predict that my difficult personality would scare away the opposite sex?


Future House

Future House

House. This looks more like a slaughterhouse or a school than a single-family residence. Or maybe a jail with the bars on the windows. It’s three stories, which is just WAY too much house; I would estimate this house at about 5,000 square feet. I’d spend my life just cleaning it. I don’t like how it has no facade articulation or landscaping beside that weird palm-pine tree hybrid. And can we talk about the chimney for a second? As an environmental consultant, I would never, ever have a fire going in my house. To be honest, I’m a pretty lame environmentalist; I barely even compost. But I try to limit my

Real House

Real House

point-source pollutants, such as air pollution from wood-burning fireplaces and exhaust from cars. Maybe I didn’t think I’d live in California, where it would be nice to have a toasty fire no more than three days of the year. That, and since we are in the middle of a major drought, practically everyday is a Spare the Air Day (meaning that it’s literally illegal to burn wood). I’m ashamed that my 9-year-old self didn’t think of that; my parents raised me better.



Future Car/Real Car

Future Car/Real Car

Car. Close Enough.