funnierwithwine

A humorous look at the little things in life

Ye Gods, I’m becoming a twelderly! December 4, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashleyolsonrosen @ 4:58 pm

Recommended wine for today’s entry: Since I’m going out with the girls tonight, I looked over the menu for our destination to see what I might be in the mood for … and now I’m very excited to announce that I plan to try a totally new wine. It’s called Luna Freakout and it’s a blend of 41% Chardonnay, 38% Sauvignon Blanc, 13% Pinot Grigio, and 8% Ribolla Gialla. It is described as “a complex wine with multiple layers of exotic fruit, soft citrus, honey and spice … intense aromas of tropical fruit and orange peel combine with rich flavors of dried apricot, spice and toasted nuts to create a lush texture and brisk mouthwatering finish.” It sounds really good! And I’ll enjoy ordering the “Freakout.”

I am afraid that I am becoming a twelderly and it is just as awful and awkward as it was being a tween.

Well, nothing will ever be as bad as being the only one who didn’t wear a bra when it was time to change into those hideous gym suits. But, as it is with a tween, being a twelderly is like having two different people living in one body.

I mean, on one hand, I’m still as hip and happening as I ever was … which wasn’t exactly avant-garde, as evidenced by my use of the phrase “hip and happening.”

On the other hand, I’m doing very disturbing things that can only mean one thing: I’m on that slippery slope toward being decrepit. (Isn’t that an awesome word? My friend Becky is the only other person who uses it in everyday conversation.)

Since it’s hard to explain, I’ll just give you some examples:

Yesterday I went shopping at the Gap (hip and happening)

While I was there, my phone, which was on the loudest setting, rang enough times (like two full phone calls) that finally an exasperated employee tapped me on the shoulder , maybe a little harder than she needed to, and said really loudly and slowly like I used to talk to my Mimi, “YOUR PHONE IS RINGING.” (decrepit) She even pointed to my butt, just in case I was so feeble I wouldn’t be able to find it.

When I went to pull it out of my Banana Republic jeans (hip and happening)…

I dropped it on the floor and the battery skittered under a rack of clothes. (decrepit)

When I got on my hands and knees, all the crap in my purse poured out. There were like 13 Bed Bath and Beyond coupons, a pencil sharpener, about 5 used pull-tab lottery tickets and a wallet, which of course wasn’t zipped, so I think around 13 dollars in change rolled to every corner of the store. (amazingly decrepit)

Luckily, I’d bought new undies the day before, so when I crawled on my hands and knees through the store, at least I didn’t have granny panties halfway up my back. (hip and happening … at least for today)

Then I found some super cool black skinny jeans on the sale rack and I got them to wear tucked into my trendy boots, so that I can look just like my daughters (hip and happening) …

…except for my face, neck, and saggy places. (decrepit)

I didn’t want the people at the Gap to know my name, for obvious reasons, so I dusted off my knees and paid cash, pulling a crumpled twenty out of my pocket and counting out a dollar twenty from the recently reclaimed coins I had clutched in my hand. Then I composed myself and headed to the car. I was very pleasantly surprised that, for once, I didn’t set the stupid alarm off when I went through the door. (Well, if I did, I didn’t hear it — which is COMPLETELY feasible, given that I don’t hear my phone from my back pocket.) At any rate, I wasn’t detained by a mall cop. (hip and happening)

But I couldn’t find my car for about five minutes. (decrepit)

Once in the car, I slid open my cool green slide phone and called my daughter. (hip and happening)

…but I meant to call my mother. (decrepit)

And when I realized what I’d done, I called myself a dodo bird. Really. I said dodo bird. Aloud. (c’mon, don’t do this to me. I’m not ready for the home).

But since the phone was already ringing, I went ahead and told my daughter about the cool pants I’d scored for $19.99 and she was TOTALLY impressed. (ok, this seems hip and happening, but is actually a glimpse of the delusional qualities that are manifesting themselves recently. In reality, she was probably more horrified of the visual of me in skinny jeans than she was impressed with my shopping prowess.)

Then I stopped and vacuumed out my rugged SUV because tonight is girls’ night out! (hip and happening)

But I forgot to wash the masses of dog snot off the back window. At least it’s in a cool ribbon-candy design where he leaned left and right with each turn and sunk lower and lower in the seat until he finally put his head down and let his nose drain on the grocery bag filled with canned goods for charity. (that’s just yucky)

But now I’m thinking that I’ve gotten all my decrepitness out of my system for the week.

So today, we’ll head to my friend Cebette’s — who lives in an uber-cool part of town, perhaps purchase some of her handmade jewelry, then have a glass of wine at a cutting-edge establishment, then peruse the wares of upscale vendors in a new shopping village … and I will make a concerted effort to stay hip and happening the whole evening!

I’ll just have to be a little more, uh, alert. Let’s see, Jody can listen for my phone, Beth can remember where the car is, and I’ll zip my purse AND wallet. Yeah, baby, time to put on my skinny jeans and boots — lookout!

Oh, and I just wrote this on my hand in Sharpie: “DO NOT SAY DODO BIRD.”

Now I’m ready.

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3 Responses to “Ye Gods, I’m becoming a twelderly!”

  1. cebette Says:

    OK. I was already lovin’ this one since I have been needing a name to describe the place I seem to live (decrepit twelderliness). But when I saw I got a shout out too, that was just icing on the dodo bird!

  2. Gina Says:

    After reading this, I needed my inhaler (decrepit)

  3. ashleyolsonrosen Says:

    Yay! I’m so happy to know I’m not alone. I say we blow off the dumb red hat club or whatever and start a Twelderly Club, where we dress like we’re cougars and drink w-a-a-y too much wine and then bitch about our knees hurting while winking at 30-year-old guys. Then we’ll have our husbands or exasperated children come pick us up to take us home!
    And our motto can be (with credit to Monty Python) … “We’re not dead yet!”


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