Last night at the rock show (Jeff Tweedy at the Fillmore, with Alisyn) I looked around at the sea of nerds in J. Crew buttondowns and vintage beer teeshirts and faux-vintage sneakers and pattern baldness and felt really comfortable and in my element. The music wasn't too loud, the wine was actually pretty good, the crowd polite (with the exception of us, who got a little chatty at one point and had to be shushed). I didn't feel old, I didn't feel uncool.
The Sixteen Year Old Who Lives In My Head (TSYOWLIMH) is horrified. TSYOWLIMH expected to be going to rock shows on a Wednesday night and then snorting coke off of somebody's tits backstage afterward. TSYOWLIMH thought she'd be invited to hang out on the tour bus. TSYOWLIMH is completely disgusted that I wore a teeshirt and jeans from the Gap to a show (like...somebody's MOM!). She had hopes and dreams for my adulthood, and I have pretty much crushed them. TSYOWLIMH thinks I should have been just getting home right around the time I had to leave to take Molly to school this morning.
TSYOWLIMH is slightly mollified by the fact that, at least, I had a little hangover. It's better than nothing.