don't talk like you're 19 -- you're 35 if you're a day
Today at Safeway, two weird things happened.

First, I totally sold someone on Gardenburger products. I was standing in front of the freezer, pondering a package of veggie cutlets, when from behind me, someone said, "Are those good?" I told her I didn't know, since I'd never had those particular ones, but I'd had most other gardenburger products and they were good. Then she asked me what I thought of the chicken patties, and I said I liked them, as most of the fake-chicken products were pretty tasty. Then I mentioned that veggie nuggets are especially good, as they taste exactly like chicken, but they're better because one doesn't get any nasty surprises when biting into them. So then she grabbed a package of those, too, and thanked me. I feel so... vegetarian. Which is funny, since I'm not.

Second, as I was waiting in line, a woman in the aisle next to me picked up a Seventeen magazine, seriously examined the cover for a while, flipped through it, re-examined the cover, and then put it back on the rack. I was certain she was going to put it in the cart. There's no way this woman was younger than 35. Her husband was with her, and if I'm not mistaken, so were several young children, none of whom approached being a teenager. Now, maybe I'm just weird, but I felt kind of dirty picking up a Seventeen when I was seventeen. Shouldn't she have graduated to Vogue or Vanity Fair or even Cosmo by now? What does it say about you when sub-25 starlets and tips on how to get a guy still grab you when you're 35 and married with little kids? Maybe I'm being insensitive. Maybe she was just pining for her youth. A former sorority girl missing her popularity, perhaps? Who knows? I still felt like I should stage an intervention.

Speaking of sorority girls, I've developed an addiction to Sorority Life and Fraternity Life. Mostly, I think, because it vindicates everything I've ever felt about Greek life, and thus gives me a nice, cushy superiority complex. I'm petty like that.

And, speaking of things related to youth and college, I've been overcome by nostalgia lately. Not so much for April of last year, since I was, at this point, in the throes of agony over my thesis and the Emerald crisis of the day, all while sleeping very little. (Actually, I still couldn't bear to read any of my thesis, even the real, bound, perfect version ensconced in the library.) But nostalgic for my social life, and for all the comforting routines of my households and even dorm life. For always being in motion. For my favorite bars and hangouts and dishes. For the intellectual environment, if not the work. Even, a little, for old crushes and heartbreaks that I wouldn't relive under any circumstances. Even after nine months of being graduated and working and getting enough sleep and having all my off time be my own, I could slip back into it all so easily. As Erin told me last week, even though I never lived with her and the other girls, it's not odd for her to walk into Becca's room and see me sprawled on the bed. That life still fits, and this one doesn't, yet. Right now, I still have friends living that life -- and I can still pretend for a day or two here and there that I am, too. But in a few months, they'll be done, too, and I won't be able to pretend anymore. Our hiatus from reality will be over. And I don't know what comes after that.

song of the day: sleater-kinney, don't talk like

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