I’m much too young to feel this damn old.

My roommate has a hideous couch that he loves. It’s upholstered with fabric that looks like your grandmother’s curtains and is a dirty yellow, two reasons why he has covered it with an ill-fitting blue Ikea couch cover. He claims there’s no couch better for taking a nap, but my guess is that he hasn’t tried the one on the other side of the room, or really any other couch on the planet for that matter, because I’ve tried napping on that couch, and he’s out of his mind. The problem with his couch is that it’s so old that the springs, or whatever it is that keeps you buoyant on a normal couch, have given out, and you sink into it whenever you sit on it, so much so that your ass is only about four inches off the ground, leaving you staring at your own knees and feeling like you’re sitting in a hole in the ground. Every time I stand up after sitting on this couch, I make this sound:


If you can’t tell from the spelling, that’s the same sound an old man makes as he gets out of his Buick. It’s a struggle, really. And because of that, it makes me feel old, despite the fact that I am a healthy, hearty, twenty-three. This feeling, odd and unfitting as it may be, is starting to become more common. Let me explain, using an example of what I was doing this past Saturday night, contrasted with what I believe the standard-issue twentysomething might be doing at the same time:

1. Last Saturday night, I went to hang out with my married friends, Matt and Andrea. There’s number one, right there. I have married friends. They had invited my roommates and I, as well as another married couple they know, over to their house to play cards. This was at 7:00pm.

Elsewhere, the typical twentysomething male (from this point on, let’s call him… “Chad”) was calling his bros, trying to figure out where they were going to go find some babes that night. He likely was buttoning up one of the three collared shirts he owns, tousling his hair with a handful of “product,” and spraying Axe body spray all over himself.

2. After playing a few hands of cards, our group began to visibly get tired. This was around 10:30 in the evening. We stopped playing, and then started discussing next year’s presidential election. We followed that with another discussion on school administrative politics.  I thoroughly enjoyed both conversations, and had much to say on both topics.

Meanwhile, Chad and his two bros (Let’s call them “Jon” and “Tyler”) are driving in his lifted truck on their way into Hollywood, listening to Ludacris and ogling at the numerous pods of cleavage-baring young females walking the streets in skirts far too short for the 50 degree evening temperatures.

3. I leave Matt & Andrea’s shortly before midnight, thoroughly tired. Getting into my car, I turn on the radio, and start blindly flipping through stations, not really paying attention to where I am on the dial. I land on a station playing Santana’s “Smooth,” which I remember because it was the only song the radio played my entire freshman year of high school. I listen to the song, still not knowing what station I’m on until the song ends and the DJ comes on for station identification.
“You’re listening to K-Earth 101, playing the greatest oldies in Southern California. Now here’s Otis Redding, with ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.'” That’s right. A song popular when I was in high school is now getting regular rotation on an OLDIES station.

Back in Hollywood, the boys have found a lot where they paid $10 for parking, made their way into the club (after a $10 cover) and are each holding an $8 Corona while grinding up against one of the girls they saw on the street, whose name, they think, is Tanya.  Or Tyra.  Or Brooke.  There, the DJ says things like “hhhhhOOkay!” and requests that everyone present “shake their tailfeather like it’s they berfday.”

Upon getting home, I go to bed, falling asleep to the sounds of the typical Crestview resident starting their Saturday evening (or Sunday morning?) outside my window. So what if I’m going to bed at a moderately reasonable hour?  I’m pretty sure it doesn’t mean I’m old.  I still have my hair, my joints, my understanding of current technology–All these things I talked about?  They’re not bad things, I think.  Not at all.  Well, except for that song already being on the oldies station.  That’s actually pretty frightening.


1 Response to “I’m much too young to feel this damn old.”

  1. 1 mattvaudrey
    November 20, 2007 at 6:50 am

    I’ve got you beat. I’m up at 10:48 pm, and lamenting out loud about how “late it is”. My wife packed me a lunch and a dinner before hopping into HER Buick and going to babysit for a family from church. She drove there with her left blinker on and ran a red light on the way home. She’s currently wearing a sweatshirt while reading in bed because her arms will get cold if she doesn’t wear it.

    And where EVER did you come up with such delightfully Bro names?

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