Apparently, I'm old. It's bad enough that I have to use eye cream, but now I'm starting to think about how, a mere fifteen years ago, things seemed to make so much more sense.
The Real World on MTV has somehow become a debacle of epic proportions. It used to be that this was actually kind of an interesting show about regular people with jobs and occasional bad skin who argued, flirted, and discussed their lives with each other. Now it's aspiring runway models who don't eat, hate themselves, and hump each other like bunnies in the hot tub, and when their season is over they try to wrangle a place on the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. The Challenge! These kids that rose to "fame" on one of the MTV shows, lest they get a real job, now support themselves by appearing on these yearly challenges. The idea is to win, but they become incensed when someone else plays to win. There's a weird sense of loyalty in that they either adore or loathe each other, although God knows how they can even tell each other apart most of the time. The trump card is calling someone fake or insecure. If you hit someone or act racist, you're so out of there, bitch. You don't just get voted off; you have to battle to keep your position against another opponent in something called the Incinerator or the Pit of Despair or something.
Whatever happened to Rachel's "biggest regret in life" being that she kissed Puck? What happened to Corey, who cried all the time and just wanted to be your friend? Where's John and his cowboy hat? We need John back!
The other thing that makes me realize I'm old is shopping. I seem to recall brightly-lit stores with maybe a little bit of music piped in over the din of the mall. But the other day I went into Abercrombie (where Fitch at?) because through the window I noticed a shirt that looked just like the one that Favorite Cousin loved and ruined changing my tire (hence my guilt over replacing it). I went in and the place is, well, a club. There was even a bouncer. He may have claimed to be there to welcome shoppers, but if I were ten years younger I know he would've checked my ID. The music was blaring and it was practically pitch black. I suddenly felt like ordering a gin and tonic and making out with a stranger. I got the shirt, but not without emotional scars and maybe an STD.
When I got out, I called Favorite Cousin (who was JUST WAKING UP. I had already worked for the day. God love college).
Me: Hi. Remember your striped shirt that you got oil on?
Me: I just found its twin, so I'm sending it to you.
FC: Really? Awesome! Where?
Me: Abercrombie. That store is out of control.
FC: Is it?
Me: It's really loud! And dark!
Me: I'm old, aren't I?
FC: I hate to say it...