There are constant reminders that I am no longer cool and cute. For one, I don’t get carded anymore and I no longer end up with freebies at stores or generally get a “pass”.” The guys and gals who flirt with me – on the rare occasion anyone flirts with me anymore – tend to be my parents’ age or just otherwise unacceptable. Of course, I’m married, I don’t need anyone flirting with me; but it’s always nice to know you’ve still got it, KWIM? I don’t have it. Not anymore.
So I‘m not young, and I’m not hot, but I thought I had at least some semblance of cool. Apparently I don’t. I still listen to the radio, and I know what’s cool and current in music even though I don’t necessarily like it. [Sorry, totally don’t get the Bieber or Ke$ha thing]. I have been generally good about not expressing my old fuddy duddy opinions to the youngsters. And even though I’m no longer a club bunny, I guarantee you I can dance circles around most kids (and adults) these days [just too bad no one wants to see my butt shaking anymore].
I’m a gadget geek, so I keep up with all the latest technology. I don’t use phrases like “The Twitter.” Pop Culture Dad and I watch movies [though, usually on Netflix, because there’s generally nothing out that I like enough to pay a babysitter for]. I’m up on all the latest television. I am generally not a bad dresser, particularly since I make a good salary and can actually buy my own clothes – a luxury I did not have as a teen or early-20 something.
So given all of these things, I thought I hadn’t quite reached the stage where younger adults rolls their eyes and banish me to the “old” category. But this is how I know I’m old and uncool: Facebook.
I know, it shouldn’t bother me that my little cousin – who I used to babysit, the one who now babysits my own child, the one who once adored me more than anything and couldn’t wait to see me — rejected my friend request. But it does. Especially when I see her “mutual friends” list and it includes a whole host of other family members, some of whom are only a couple years younger than me. And, of course, it bothers me that her brother, who at one point had accepted my friend request deleted me [even though, quite honestly, I had his account blocked from my feed, cuz the kid posted annoying statuses 300 times a day].
I also know how uncool and old I am when I find myself highly annoyed by the statuses of the youngins who did friend me [you know… the ones who haven’t deleted me yet]. I am generally free-thinking and loose; but the older I get, the lower my tolerance gets. I get tired that some people under the age of 25 talk in “txt” speak. I’m sick of reading rap lyrics passed off as independent thoughts [even when I like the song]. I’m tired of hearing never-married chippies with too many kids at home, who are being raised by their parents rather than them anyway, bitch and moan about men not taking care of their kids [uh… you aren’t either!] or sobbing over the latest guy to dump them [um… how about focus on your kids first before you plan on making more]. Yup, I’m now that old lady on my cyber porch yelling at these kids to get off my lawn.
The other day, a high school friend marveled at the fact that my dad, who once shunned computers, had commented on my Facebook status, and then she wondered, “What are all these old people doing on Facebook?? Tell your parents to get off Facebook!”. It now occurs to me, however, we are those old people, too.
Apparently, aspects of Facebook are like the modeling industry: even though you’re not old, generally, you are too old for some things. It’s like the bouncer in Knocked Up said, “I didn’t mean you’re too old for this earth. You’re too old for this club.” I’m not saying I’m too old for Facebook (or that anyone is), but I guess I’m just too old to be “friends” with certain people.