Twenty-four

Twenty-four is a weird year. 

I had something I was actually going to write about, a topic that would make me sound smart and hipster and cool and stuff. But I forgot it because the resounding thing I thought when I sat down, determined to write, was man. Twenty four is a weird year. 

I spend a lot of time at Starbucks these days, and I'm noticing that twenty-four, or whatever age it is for the regulars I see at Starbucks, is a weird year for them too. 

Here's something else I realized as I watched the at least twenty four year old attractive barrista make drinks for people with such a sweet smile it made everyone smile back at him. 

If I met me at a Starbucks or concert or bookstore, I probably wouldn't befriend me. 

I'd probably annoy myself and be just polite enough to get away as quickly as possible. I would smile that smile I use only when I am annoyed and I would answer yes or no to questions. I wouldn't make eye contact or laugh at my stupid jokes, not say 'let's get lunch sometime'. Or if I did, it would be to get myself to stop talking so I could leave. 

And yet I would love myself. 

I would dote upon myself, insisting on luxury and class. Because that's what I do to myself now. 

I am annoyed constantly by my own mouth, by the words that slip out, unthought and uncared. 

I am painfully aware that I am a walking contradiction, which maybe is what annoys me most of all. 

I carefully pick out my clothes, taking far too much time and energy to be sure I am comfortable. And yet I rarely am. I judge myself based on how those are dressed around me. I want to take her dress, her shoes, his sweater, her hat. I will style myself in my mind based on selections from those I see. 

I am careful with my hair, using expensive shampoo, buying countless products to make it shine and divine, as the bottles promise. And yet I constantly look in the reflective glass of passing cars or the sunglasses of those walking by to make sure every strand is in its proper place, yelling at the strands with severe words if they are not. I envy the girls around me with long, beautiful locks that curl just right, or the girls who can pull off the short cuts with ease as if they had a team of hair stylists with them just two seconds ago to make it the perfect amount of crazy and stylish. 

I read in some magazine one time that the writer interviewed like five different guys and they all said confidence was the sexiest thing on a girl. Maybe that's why I rarely feel sexy. 

How do the other girls do it? More importantly, how do girls gain enough confidence and security to become women? I'm still waiting for the day I no longer feel like a small child girl and can wear heels with ease and lipstick like a real woman. 

Maybe when I get there, I would meet myself in a Starbucks or concert or bookstore and think, "If only she were my best friend. She is what I'd like to be." 

I bet everyone feels this way at 24, right? 

When did 24 become the new 17? 

There is a couple on a date in this Starbucks with me and the woman looks as if she is full of confidence. She is doing that thing where when he makes a joke, she laughs adorably, then puts a strand of hair behind her head, which makes him beam, even though the joke was really corny. 

Someday I'd like to be as a confident twenty-four year old as she is. 

Man, twenty-four is a weird year.