Today is one of those days where I lament the fact that Lisa Frank just stopped being cool when I turned 12. I really and truly loved my unicorn folder and odd, multi-colored, gay-leprechaun puppy portfolio, and I miss them. At some time in Lisa’s life, she must have been an LSD tester in a paint factory, or perhaps a bath salts designer. It matters not when I loved her stuff so hard.
I find myself more and more drawn to articles of nostalgia, which freaks me the hell out. I vividly remember my parents doing the very.same.thing. in the eighties and nineties. My dad would turn on the Beatles and my mom would wax poetic about Rod Stewart. I remember cringing at his oh-so-ew lyrics. Because, like any other kid, I truly believed that my mother and father were asexual, and that I was created in a petrie dish and incubated under the warmth of a gnome’s mushroom in an enchanted forest.
I’ll not be telling you anything of the sort, Rod. Not anything of the sort.
I’m probably just a few steps from circling an antique market with my sister for hours talking about shit we owned as children. “Look, it’s Mall Madness! It was so innovative!” “A Jon Knight doll!! How rare!!” (personally, I’d put him in a crowd of dolls so that he could live vicariously through his plastic avatar….what with his agoraphobia.)
Growing up, I always thought my nostalgia would be more abnormal in its presentation. Like, instead of watching “The Craft” while drinking microbrew in my pajamas, I’d be playing “light as a feather” with friends at some sort of equinox celebration. As it turns out, that would require putting on a bra, and really? After 9 pm? nah. My boobs have better things to do than be held back by spandex and wire. DAMN THE MAN! That’s what I say. I’ve become just like the masses.
I nostalge (It’s now a verb, just go with it) like everyone else. I pretend it wasn’t that long ago and that I’m not at all aging. I mean, Madonna hasn’t aged a day, so it couldn’t have been that long ago. (if you don’t look too closely, and you sort of blur your eyes like you’re looking at one of those trick-image books which were also very popular NOT that long ago)
Whatever happens though, please do not let me become one of those moms who dresses in the Junior’s section with their daughter just to try to once again touch the fleeting years of youth. I’d like you to kick my ass before you let that happen.
Promise to kick my ass, and I promise to make you this paleo-pumpkin mug cake.
Paleo Pumpkin Mug Cake