the queen of the teenagers.

The night of my birthday (Sunday), I had drinks at Johnny Brenda’s with my best male friend, Jonathan. This is nothing new for us, because we usually play Scrabble there every Sunday night. But in all of the busy-ness and chaos of the last month, we have fallen out of our routine. This is a shame for two reasons: For one, I think that a Sunday night without a bloody mary is like a day without sunshine. Or something like that. More importantly, I just missed my regular quality time with him. Jonathan is one of my funniest friends. Or specifically, he has the sharpest (brutal) wit. Furthermore, we both possess a ridiculously narcissistic personality that results in hilarious (at least in retrospect) drama and emotional turmoil (especially in regard to “romantic” adventures).

It was an evening of amazing thunderstorms. We sat in the back of JB’s, our jaws dropping with awe as we watched lightening illuminate the sky. I blazed through my bloody mary in record time (I was starving, as I had just spent the weekend in Ocean City lamenting the lack of vegan food options at the beach). We realized that we have known one another for nearly seven years. He admitted that when he first met me, he assumed that Dylan’s father had been killed in the 9/11 attacks. I confessed that I thought he was a jerk for the first few weeks of our acquaintance. (However, I did not add that I always imagined that he subsisted on frozen White Castle burgers–he was always eating those at work–and huge bottles of bourbon).

And then Jonathan said something about being “almost 40.” Or “pushing 40.” Something shocking like that.

Imagine my look of horror.

So yes, that statement is true. He is in his late thirties. And we were celebrating my 31st birthday.

The thing is, I don’t feel any different than I did six-point-something years ago, when I first met Jonathan. I always imagined that turning 30 lead to some sort of “instant adulthood.” Less magical than Sea Monkeys. Suddenly I would have an urge to move to the suburbs and marry someone with a respectable–albeit boring–career. We would spend our weekends at Crate & Barrel. I’m not going to lie: this was (and still is) a frightening idea! Then again, when I was 29 and living in a teeny room with my very adolescent boyfriend, still spending my disposable income on shoes/records/clothes/comic books, I began to suspect that no huge transformation was coming soon.

I still like boys with funny clothes and large record collections. Success and a retirement plan are not required.
The only credit card in my wallet is actually my corporate card (because credit is still scary to me).
I would rather spend money on trips and moccasins than a house and fancy car.

I love Disneyland.
Savings account? What?
I spend my free time donning costumes and taking photos.
Reading comic books and making mixtapes are two of my favorite activities.
I can’t decided which store I prefer: Masquerade (the costume store) or Party City.

But: I do have a “grown up” job (though it rarely feels that way). I have an assistant, go to a lot of meetings, give presentations, read reports…and I have a 401K.
I wake up early every morning.

I pay my bills on time. In fact, I look for ways to reduce my utility bills.
Generally, I think bars are boring. (Is this a sign of old age or elevated entertainment values?)
Overall hussiness is even more boring.
I enjoy cleaning my house and going to the grocery store (but only if it’s Wegmans AND only if I’m with Janelle).
I take yoga. I say things like, “I’m going to get even more serious about yoga this month.” I spend a lot of money on this.
I listen to NPR (nothing new) while worrying about the economy, environment, and politics. Then I get blazed with friends and talk about it for hours.

Maybe most things don’t change with time/age. I have one fortysomething friend, and our lives don’t seem very different. He owns his home, but has a hipster job. I rent, but I have a career. Otherwise, our priorities and interests overlap. If I were the type of individual destined for wholesome suburban life, I would probably have wanted it a long time ago. The money spent on tattoos and hip hop records would have been redirected towards highlighted hairstyles and trips to Cancun. I would have bought bride magazines “just for fun.” I would subscribe to the Crate and Barrel catalog.

Someone once called me “the Queen of the Teenagers.” It was meant as insult, but even now, I can only see it as a compliment.

So…here’s to prolonged adolescence and general tomfoolery!
A toast for being attracted to unemployed fellows with esoteric taste in music!
A ticker tape parade for individuals whose bank statements are filled with transactions for coffee, astrology books, and animal masks!

One thought on “the queen of the teenagers.

  1. janelle says:


    1. proud of our 13 year-slumber-party girl qualities
    2. need to go to wegman’s, like SOON.
    3. new photo shoot ideas with amazing, found, bejeweled costumes.
    4. linda goodman = now need to research this mystery!
    5. new horizons at harry’s occult?


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