it's the same old song and bad dancing.

once a week, while on route to collect a cover charge at a local dance party, i pass by a group of thirty something women in a knitting collective. they're always drinking tea and gossiping and building elaborate scarves for their friends or etsy pages and i can't help but wonder if i belong there instead. i mean, why surround myself with children who, in the 90s, were learning their abc's while i was learning the fine art of fingerbanging in basements? for one day a week i sit, alone, in a room full of pretty young boys who struggle with the concept of a line and overtly sexual young girls who struggle with ill-fitting clothes inappropriate for their body type.

i think this foray into mainstream youth culture forces me to "act my age" the other six days of the week. i've found myself perusing diy renovation blogs at work in place of punknews sites. i've begun to slowly build up a life collection: an assembly of items i'll never have to buy again. (oh, how proud ed-norton-pre-tyler-durden would be.) i am constantly looking ahead to the day phil and i have our own apartment and i can build shelves, bake cookies and have (hopefully) amassed an analog graveyard/vintage closet so impressive and over-taking that i will be forced to open my own little shop.

in the interim (five more months!) i will endure the shiny clothing, the black outs and the dance floor handjobs because, well, adult life doesn't come cheap and this pseudo-babysitting gig has got me makin' it rain... on these stores.