The Beginning of The End


Ever since the babies arrived I have been super sensitive to loud noises.  I think this is pretty natural, but I do feel like kind of a jerkoff always asking people to turn the volume on the tv, radio, their booming voices, etc. down.  Most peeps are very considerate, generally agreeing with me about protecting the babies’ eardrums, or more frequently the precious nap, although I’m sure that they secretly think I’m one of THOSE parents who totally focuses on the babies and needs to relax.  To them I say, “Uh, yeah, you’re probably right.”  But I can’t help myself.  I will sit there and try not to say something, and then all of a sudden it will spurt out.  And by then I’m all on edge, so “Could you please turn that down a skosh?” comes out more like, “Turn that shit down, you babyhating motherfuckers!”

My internal filter, or lack thereof, is not the topic of this post, though.  See, I figured that my hearing sensitivity was linked to the Littles actually being present.  But, now I’m thinking that it might just be a factor of my ever advancing age.  You know how when you were little and you’d be riding around in the car and when your mom was looking for a parking place, or trying to figure out where she was going, or trying to screw the cap off her jug of Gallo, she would turn the radio down so she could concentrate?  I do that now!  WTF!?!

I also am now of the age where the music in bars is too loud.  When the hell did that happen?  I love bars.  Love them.  Bars and me go way back.  Bars and me and music (and dancing and flipping my friends over my back on the dance floor and thinking I should always do a jig when Cotton Eyed Joe comes on and going to bars where Cotton Eyed Joe comes on) have been pals since like forever.  So imagine my surprise when as part of our drunken bike Tour de Palm Springs this Friday, my first reaction to the Village Pub was how freaking loud it was!  I had to ask Bubs if it was especially loud – perhaps to distract patrons from the over-population of heinously dressed women and mysteriously-coiffed men.  But he assured me that it was a normal level.  I seriously thought my head was going to explode.  I had to do a kamikaze shot to hang onto some shred of youth.  Of course, I had to do it alongside my brother’s girlfriend who is Twenty.One.Years.Old.  Mmmhmmm.  21.  That didn’t help.

Let me take some time out here for a quick PSA: When you’re out on the town with a cute 21 year old, and you yourself are a haggard old woman who can barely get it together to brush your hair for said night out on the town (and for whom headbands do not actually make you look like Blair Waldorf) please follow this advice.  As you approach the entrance, make certain to get ahead of her.  Use of elbows is allowed and let’s be honest…encouraged.  If she goes in first you’ll be delayed while the bouncer gives her the once over, licks his lips, and asks her for her ID.  Then the delay will continue while she digs around in her purse for her practically brand-new license.  This is right about the time where you will think, “Oh my god, I’m going to get carded, too!  This is so fun!  I guess this peasant shirt must be really flattering and not at all like a giant tent.  And the nursing bra I’m wearing because I forgot to bring any others along must do great things for my chest!”  Well, WAKE THE FUCK UP.  Once he’s done with Hannah M0ntana he will give you one brief look, and wonder why the pretty girl brought her ugly aunt along.  You will be waved by as quickly as he can flap his hands.  You will head to the bar in shame, take note of the loud music, and order an extremely unnecessary shot.  Don’t worry, though.  If you go to the right bar in the right vacation town, you will also see a LOT of hideously dressed people.  You will make fun of them and feel much better about yourself.  But still.  A lot of your earlier pain could have been avoided by going in first.  And throwing elbows is fun!

So, short story long, I’m old and only getting older.  It’s not surprising, but the manifestations of it sure are shocking at times.  What’s next ,yelling at kids to get off my lawn?


5 Responses to “The Beginning of The End”

  1. 1 lifeineden

    Okay, I must be old-ER … who is Blair Waldorf?
    I haven’t even been to a bar in about 3 years.

  2. 2 momsprung

    You’re not older, you’re just more mature. She’s a character in Gossip Girl with a penchant for headbands.

  3. 3 Cath

    Oh my god..So funny. I was totally laughing..”Wow, I guess this peasant shirt is really flattering!”..I have sooo been there!! it!

  4. 4 vball

    I’m glad I’m not the only one who just blurts things out 😉

  5. I avoid hanging out with 21 year olds at all costs these days for this very reason. A few weeks ago I took my old assistant and the baby to Chick Fil A (you would think it would be safe there) and I know the college soccer team there wasn’t looking at my adorable son or his old mom!

    I have also gotten sensitive to noise and don’t believe it is because of the baby either – just becoming a fuddy duddy.

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