Sunday, January 26, 2014

This isn't 40

Well, it is, but I hated that movie. Sadly. Normally I like anything from Judd Apatow, and I think Paul Rudd is both funny and adorable, but that particular flick was so full of  whining and juvenile behavior and leering at Megan Fox (see: juvenile behavior) that I sort of wanted to smack all the characters upside the head. Especially when they blamed all their problems on their parents. Especially when they decided they would solve all their financial issues by selling their bloated house, because apparently no one in this movie had been following the real estate market. I think the movie should've been called "This Is 40 in Overentitled Los Angeles But Not Where Real People Live."

Anyhow. 40. I don't feel 40, however that's supposed to feel. (Unfulfilled? Angsty? I'm Gen X -- isn't that how we always feel?) I see no midlife crisis over the horizon; I won't be trading my perfectly practical family car in for a convertible, because I hate when the wind messes my hair up, and also I can blast Daft Punk just as well in my practical car. Besides, I'm pretty sure the boomers redefined "midlife" on us and I shouldn't be planning a crisis until at least 55.

To celebrate, DH and I went away for the weekend and Grandma and Grandpa stayed with the kids. I felt a cold-type thing coming on and stayed in bed the day before, and more or less fought it to a draw. DH was less lucky, and spent the weekend in a bit of a stupor, guzzling tea and soup at every restaurant we visited. DH is a trouper. Especially since my idea of a grand time is wandering the streets of a cute little town and checking out every single shop in sight. In other words, a guy's worst nightmare.

The playhouse in town was screening "Gone With the Wind" for free on Friday night, and I hadn't seen it since high school, when I promptly dismissed Scarlett as a bitch. It seemed fair to give the movie another shot. Quite a few people showed up -- pretty good turnout for a four-hour movie -- and everyone applauded when Scarlett said "I will never go hungry again!" and then when Rhett said "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." Also, I now think Scarlett is a tragic case of a charming young girl irredeemably hardened by war, and Ashley is a spineless jerk. And Rhett is also a jerk. But wow, impressive cinematography.

So I shopped, and we ate entirely too much great food, and then we came back and DH slept for most of the day. And then we had a big family dinner to celebrate at which I again ate too much great food. It's back to salads and homemade smoothies for me.

I'm just not feeling this 40 thing. The only differences between me now and me 20 years ago are 1. better hair, 2. better clothes, 3. children. (I was probably with DH 20 years ago too. Or we were "just friends." Always one or the other.) And since the children are the greatest part of my life, I'm hardly going to see that as a minus.

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