Signs I’m Starting To Become an Adult.
Before you read this blog, please read this one that I most conveniently found on wordpress this morning.
‘ To find inspiration is to be inspiration’. Therefore, I will admit to you that this blog is a little different in flavour to my usuals. I was inspired by another blog I read this morning about ‘growing up’ per say, and it was one that I totally agreed with and found very amusing – but I think that the same concept needs to be written from a girls perspective. This guy’s blog started with the fact that turning 18 and therefore becoming ‘legally an adult’ does not actually mean that you are an adult. But please read on; these are my observations.
> There comes a time when old habits become too old and simply fade away, and then you suddenly realise that you have become a different person. You look back on your High School years and shake your head, laugh, and cry and go completely red in the face.
You remember the times when you passed bitchy notes in class, when you glued your white socks to your legs so that they would stay up, when you would hide your phone behind your text book to send messages, the stupid things you did at parties on the weekend, the bitch fights at lunch where girls would be called ridiculous names like ‘skunk’, sneaking out after everyone had gone to sleep, the copious amounts of alcohol you used to guzzle; the short skirts, the pink shiny lip-gloss, the boys, the tan, the sunglasses, sneaking into clubs, the car, the friends, the tears, the music, and how you used to dream of being an adult. All that actually changed when I turned 18 was that I was then legally allowed to do everything I was doing already.
I have been out of High School for three years now, and I’m starting to realise that the person I was back then has slowly disappeared. It scares me a little bit when I think about the future; will I look back on the person that I am now in another five years time and shake my head?
“Lately, I’ve started to notice signs that I’m entering adulthood. I’m not completely there yet, but the process has started…”
Plastic is every girl’s earthy saviour, and spiritual worst nightmare. My closet is overflowing with jackets, jeans, shirts, bras, hats, scarves, tights, underwear and a whopping 42 pairs of shoes. If you have ever seen the movie ‘Confessions of a Shopaholic’ – that’s pretty much me.
Actually, my likening to this fictitious yet ever so honestly personified character only became apparent to me last night when I met up with my cousin for drinks after work. We had pizza and sangria (the usual) and then found ourselves lost without anything to do. With a huge grin on my face I motioned the idea of “SHOPPING”. Before she agreed to some ‘light’ browsing, she first remarked on the sudden grin that was plastered all over my face at the suggestion of spending dollars; I told her it was the sangria, which it was of course…
You will be pleased to know that I have given my credit card to a close friend of mine to look after so that I don’t completely ruin my life and bury myself in a mountain of credit debt.
Everyone has a credit card these days, or some sort of plastic. With plastic comes freedom I guess; a false sense of freedom (which I learnt the hard way). It also comes with a certain responsibility and status; ‘If you have a credit card then surely you must be mature’. Here is a first hand example of the well known yet ignored ‘Plastic Black Hole’.
Lissy: Woman! Are you coming to mine to chill this weekend?
Liz: For sure loser. What are we doing?
Lissy: Probably dinner on Friday night and then drive back to mine and chill with some movies. Saturday we can have lunch and go window shopping? I’ve got like no money right now.
Liz: Yep I’m negative funds too. Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you at 8 Friday night.
Texts as of 22nd May 2010
Ok, listen and learn. The above messages are legit, they actually happened, but I may have to decode this for you.
Lissy: Woman! Are you coming to spend some serious dollars with me this weekend?
Liz: For sure loser. How much are we talking here?
Lissy: Well we’ll need $50 or so for dinner on Friday night, then we’ll pick up some DVD’s for maybe $15 and watch them back at mine. Saturday we’ll need $40 or so for lunch, and then $300 for shopping… so probably around $400 ish?
Liz: Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you at 8 Friday night.
That’s how we roll, and before you know it you’ve only eaten 2 sushi rolls the entire weekend, and bought the entire chain of ‘Forever New’.
Fringe & Trench
The Fringe & Trench. Is there a more universal symbol for the woman, besides boobs? You would surely be familiar with the song ‘Short Skirt, Long Jacket’ by Cake.
When everyone left school, we all bought a trench coat and cut our hair. We gave ourselves front fringes, dyed our hair darker and bought a black, red, grey or navy trench coat. It was the sophisticated, clean, European look. Life after final exams is marked with the status that comes with owning a fitted Trench Coat; in fact, Mum went out and bought me a black, cashmere trench coat for my 18th.
Not soon after our expensive purchases and trimmed bangs appeared, it seemed as though everyone had also taken their hair cuts and trench coats with them to Europe. Photos of girls standing outside The Louvre and The Big Ben complete with Fringe & Trench were popping up all over Facebook. Albums and albums of photos were dedicated to partying in dirty English pubs, and without fail in almost every photo, there in the centre is Miss. Fringe & Trench.
Attached to the Fringe & Trench era came the trips overseas, beanies, berets and scarves and coffee orientated status updates. Fringe & Trench was like a ‘right of passage’ I guess. You must signal the ‘finishing of school’ with a haircut and a trench coat, otherwise; have you really finished school?
But now things are starting to level out. All the ‘rights of passages’ are now gone, and people are now ‘growing into their own bodies’; not everyone is the same. People are growing into themselves, and whilst it’s great to see, it’s also scary when you look back at how things and people used to be and how much things have changed. Then you think about how much things are going to keep on changing. I will see a young girl walking down the street with the Fringe & Trench, and think back to how I used to be; and then I will mock her, because in a couple of years time she will be looking back and shaking her head. Saying all this, I do however still like to sport the Fringe & Trench every now and then.
The world of Nigella Lawson, Jamie Oliver and Julia Child is a fascinating place. My love of this industry has come as a surprise not only to everyone I know, but to me also. My former messy and disobedient self has been tarnished by the skill and procedure of baking. The only problem with this interest is that I fail at it. Everything looks absolutely scrumptious and easy to make on TV, until of course you get into the kitchen to try out a recipe and find out that you suck…
To me now, a Double Chocolate Black Forest sponge or a Custard Cannelloni is my fascination in life. My favourite scene out of any movie ever produced is the scene from ‘It’s Complicated’ where Meryl Streep and Steven Martin play around in her big bakery kitchen making chocolate croissants. Yum…
My collection of cook books is rapidly increasing, and hence my sense of self-ability is rapidly decreasing. I think I’ll just stick to eating thanks very much.
It wasn’t too long ago that I would kick, scream and burst into hysterics whenever Mum put on ‘Ready, Steady, Cook’; but I am now proud to say that ‘Ready, Steady, Cook’ is one of my favourite TV shows on the entire planet.
Similar to the statement in the linked blog at the top of the page; I am turning into my mother. Why is it that Mum and I don’t fight as much anymore? Could it be that I am agreeing with her? Oh no, crap. I like cooking shows, I own a trench coat, and I have a credit card. I guess I am slowly turning into Mum.
Please note, I’m not that boring; and I can’t thank God enough that at least I’m not turning into my Dad. Cooking shows, trench coats and credit cards are a lot better than nail guns, Stephen King and farts.