I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I love it because I can reconnect with people and see what’s happening in their lives. And I hate it because I can reconnect with people and see what’s happening in their lives. OK, mostly love, and we’ll leave it at that.
I had stopped going on FB for a while because it was just too much to keep up with. My musings post automatically, but I rarely logged on and checked the newsfeed. Recently I jumped back on and immediately got sucked right back in.
Checking on the status of family members first, I noted that my niece had called my nephew a “douche” on his wall. What a proud and heartwarming moment for me as an Aunt. Ah, to revel in those two absolutely delightful young adults. As I noted, when I see a post like that I know that something is right in this crazy world.
Then I noticed that my college roommate had a picture from circa 1982 where my hair was simultaneously chemically straightened, and forcefully “feathered”, neither to very good effect. It was scary. May both Farrah Fawcett and my old hair “style” RIP.
But that was just the beginning. Suddenly there were more pictures posted, and then I posted a few of my own…and then everyone started reminiscing. That’s when one of my friends suggested we all get a beach house together next year and rekindle the good old days. I am as nostalgic as the next person, but a group house? I noted that I would be 50 next year, and I’m not sure I should be staying in a house with people I’m not related to. Well, that did it. Bring on the jokes and insults—I get it. We all got older at the same rate.
The thing is, some of those guys started out with a modicum of maturity and good sense. I did not. I was a moron. So my maturity level seems accelerated when in fact it’s just that I started behind the eight ball.
I’m trying to picture how this group house concept will unfold. I’m guessing after we get all hopped up on Snackwell cookies and decaf coffee, the conversation might center on the state of our retirement funds and whether or not the older Boomers are in fact going to suck up all the social security before we have a chance to get at it. Mortgage rates, the stock market, the cost of living. Sure, I assiduously avoided the general angst and expense associated with parenthood, but my cats can go through fuzzy mice and scratching pads at an alarming rate. Have you even priced Friskies Buffet lately?
And inevitably I will need to look at pictures of other people’s happy, healthy, well-adjusted children and wonder how people who 30 years ago spent most of their time drinking Malt Duck in a 7-11 parking lot have successfully reproduced and raised lovely little humans. My rule of thumb is that for every two pictures of their kid I look at, they will have to look at one adorable cat photo. Awww. There’s Jack sleeping on the sofa, curled up with Chrissy. Precious, am I right?
I know at least a couple of us long ago gave up drinking, so I would likely stock the fridge with almond milk and diet Dr. Pepper. I have to leave my pill box out on the counter or I forget to take my meds—and believe me, everyone wants me on my meds. I can only assume that like me, my friends are also now taking meds for a variety of ailments. So, will all our pill boxes be lined up on the counter? It’s a whole new take on the drug problem we heard so much about back in those days. At least we can turn the music up as loud as we like because if the cops come to the door the only things we’ll be holding are cholesterol and blood pressure meds. Let’s hope no one panics and flushes everything when they see the fuzz. My co-pay went up this year.
Look, no matter what happens, I was holding that Lipitor for a friend.