On Las Vegas & getting old-er-ish or Tutus forever


It’s 2 am in Vegas. After an epic weekend of hanging and partying with my besties, I’ve spent most of my last day here alone, marooned in my hotel room, binge watching Ally McBeal on Netflix and eating junk food. It’s what I call regrouping. Anyways, I am well primed for a depressing, esoteric sort of rant. I promise I will in the end have a point.

Being the neurotic, deep-&-over-thinking type I’ve always struggled with just about every aspect of the human condition. I think I had my first existential crisis as a tottering, slobbering toddler with many more to follow in its wake. I envy people who can glide through life largely unaffected by or unaware of the preposterousness of the entire ordeal, and I don’t say this disparagingly. Don’t they recognize that we are all literally born to hazard; the human experience, though punctuated by some occasional variant joys, is really one of perennial exigency and loss. Still, most just mosey on; they grow, grow up, they find joy, have sex, make love, squeeze themselves into various conventions of living (some with more ease than others), they grasp at satisfaction (however slippery it might be), search for meaning (or invent it), bury their loved ones, make or birth new ones, and, after brief quarter and midlife crises, they finally settle into old age. Seamlessly, living becomes about mitigating the pains and indignities of aging, bouncing grandchildren on knees, reminiscing about days long gone, afternoon naps and weekly games of bridge. Those are actually the lucky people. The unlucky ones might not even get to grow old, or they do, but alone, perhaps ailing beyond the assuaging powers of medicine or without the attentions of loved one. Yes, this is the price of living, it is at best a lottery, and in a way we’re always loosing, even when we are winning.

To many it just is what it is, and I envy the “is what it is” lot. They are the lucky ones. I guess they can also be seen as the “glass half full” people or maybe even just “full”. Though I do not possess their optimistic take on life, I bask in its warm glow like a cold blooded reptile sprawled out beneath the sun. I married such a sun, and every day he gives me the warmth and the stability I need to remain earthbound. In his infinite wisdom he lets me be me, do me, whining, sinking, grappling and struggling, all side-effects of my coping ineptitudes and my free spiritedness.

Although I am mostly just baffled by time’s passing…I, more precisely, don’t do well with what it means for me, the limitations it puts on me, and so I am always looking for answers in an answerless void, trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. I’ll probably go through life feeling forever like I’m missing something important but intangible, like wings or a unicorn; or maybe answers, or a time machine, a dead person, a path not taken, a thrill not had, a youth not fully realized and all too quickly gone. That last one, the one about youth waning, is at the center of all my current grumblings.

A couple of nights ago, while here in Vegas, I had occasion to not only feel 16 (as I always do) but act 16 too. I wore a rainbow tutu, took Molly with my friends (which I hadn’t done in well over a decade), made it rain at a co-ed strip joint, danced all night with a sweet, truly beautiful (inside and out) much younger boy and ate a mountain of French Fries on my bed before finally passing out, fully dressed, on a pile of ketchup packets and just in time for the sunrise. It was an indisputably fun, unforgettable sort of night, but in the end it left me feeling sad and dispossessed.

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It was a wrinkle in time, which, for the sake of all things right and orderly, had to be quickly ironed out. I resurfaced from it sorely aware of how little it belonged to me, and how soon there’ll come a time when It won’t belong to me at all. It’s not that I want to be 16 again, or experience any dissatisfaction with my life, really, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world just about most of the time. For all the things I have, most can only hope for. My family is my amazing everything, my husband is my rock & my best friend, my few good friends are more than just “good”, I have fun hair and even a pony 😛 etc. etc.; It isn’t that I want to be 16, it is simply that I never again will be 16, ever. NEVER. The gap is set to steadily widen, and widen it does. Simple enough, pathetic even, I know.

I am suddenly facing the looming limitations and expectations, which come with being fortunate enough to enter that wretched fourth decade of life, the one that marks indisputably the onset of adulthood. It has left me grateful, sure, but even more so, for a time, perturbed and kind of robbed. For most women who face their 30’s with uncertainty it is an experience which is something like a midlife crisis; for a woman like me, one stuck in perpetual childhood, it is worse. It feels like a merciless suffocation (not the fun kind), in most dramatic terms it feels like a dying of the light. I even had a nightmare last night about turning 31, a full on nightmare, I was relieved to wake up and remember that in reality there was a handful of months left before the event….but then I realized it’s ONLY a handful of months.

When I turned 30 this year, I did so with pronounced bravado, much more so actually than any of my previous birthdays, but I can honestly say that I am now having a painfully delayed reaction to it. I’ve had a good run of my 20’s, I like who I was and how I grew. I wasn’t a perfect human, but I learned life’s lessons dutifully, I strived for self-betterment, I sought quality and depth in most things. I can say that I am an ethical person, my integrity means everything to me, I am uniquely committed to living honestly, I mostly do the right thing, I say what I mean and more than I should…. but still, inside, inside I often just feel so little and so 16. And the further away I move from 16, chronologically speaking, the more I feel like a panic. Like something is moving in on me, grimly, and I cannot quell it. Neither can I properly incorporate it into my own-personal-human experience. I am lost in time, and time is no less lost in me.

Although the rainbow tutu belongs to me, I worry that I won’t belong to it much longer, and there in lies the crux of it all. Having cried into my ketchup stained pillow for a good part of the hour while typing this up, I feel slightly relieved, which leads me to believe that this whole rant might have been partially hormonal. Anyways, there is always Botox and lying about my age I suppose, that should buy me a few extra years. Tutus forever for me and mine. Tootle-loo.

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20 thoughts on “On Las Vegas & getting old-er-ish or Tutus forever

  1. I think I understand most of what you are saying. And you said it with thoughtful intelligence. I sometimes wonder if I have too much time to contemplate my existence and by that I mean when I truly reflect on how little time I have to exist, to be alive, and I am aware of this awareness, it becomes almost panic inducing. At almost any other time in history I would simply be too busy surviving to actually reflect upon my own existence. This is a blessing and a curse.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Alright, now that I have finished the story perhaps I can comment on a couple of thins and expand on my Community pool comments.

    Everything I said there still stands, both in my original resonse and my reply to you clearifying some things. One thing I wanted to add that I noticed was that, there were a handful of times I wasn’t 100% what I was reading was part of the story you had written or if it was part of a side thought you were having while writing it. Quickly after word there was no doubt and I was right there where I needed to be. I cannot really give you any advice on that other then perhaps finding a way to differenciate between what’s part of the main thought and what’s part of the side thought. Geez I hope that made sense.

    Now also having read the whole thing I can also solidify my previous positions. I enjoyed it, I was most certainly engaged, and not once did I feel it a fruitless effort to finish. To be honest it almost sounds like you may have confidence issues, whether you realize it or you don’t. This post was written very intelligently, it was as througough as it needed to be to convey what you were saying, and it was enjoyable. No post is perfect, neither is any blog/blogger perfect and I am sure someone smarter then me can point those out at some point but I liked it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for your feedbacK, it is much appreciated. I respect your impressions and thank you for reading to conclusion, i
      Hope your sister feels better. I’ll point out one thing for sake of record. I don’t have confidence problems, i have vanity issues which generate aging related trepidations. These might at first glance seem interchangeable, but aren’t.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I completely understand and sincerely hope I did not offend, that was not my intention. i also understand where you are coming from completely, I am 35 myself and never actually had a childhood so often times I think about being younger and hope, even for a minute I can get some of it back.

        I do enjoy your blog and I will be reading more of your posts as time permits.

        Liked by 1 person

          1. HA! Well i’m glad, I did take a look at your humor section last night before bed as well (mostly just looked at your pictures of the horse for now) and well, anyone who has a dedicated humor section can’t be too down right? haha

            Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh boo hoo! You’re all of 14 years beyond 16 and not even 31 yet and you’re whining about a mid-life crisis, never being able to recapture your youth, and on and on. Well, at least you got to spend one last night in your rainbow tutu acting like a 16 year old and doing Molly (I had to Google Molly to know what you were talking about…that’s how OLD I am!). But you’re life ain’t over by a long shot, so stop your moaning and groaning. Accept growing older (not old, not even close to old) gracefully. Sounds like you live an almost enchanted life. And you have fun hair, too boot!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I know Doob, though you’re right it doesnt change anything about my experience. it’s also quite different for men. This particular age can feel hard, because its the very first year out of 20’s, boohoohoo me all you want, i know i ain’t alone

      Liked by 1 person

    2. Hello to the both of you. If I may offer just one reminder? Everyone is different, we all walk down different paths, we think differently, we feel things differently. An experience that one person can simply blow off will put another person into a depressive state. Regardless of how you felt during a particualar time or event in your life doesn’t not mean that everyone else out there will react the same way so It is unfair to critisize others based on their personal reactions.

      After I finish reading the rest of this post I will create a new reply thread for that. For now I just wanted to post my 2 cents as a casual visitor.


      1. Hey Dood. I actually wasn’t being critical of IGBG…okay, not seriously critical, anyway. I’ve been a long time reader of hers — well, almost since she first started writing here — and I was mostly just bustin’ her chops. I always do enjoy her writing and this post was no exception.

        Liked by 2 people

        1. I understand, honestly If I had really thought you were just a troll troll or something my comment wouldn’t have been nearly as civil haha. I could sort of tell by her response and the slightly cheeky way you made yours. As the kids say “it’s all good” ha

          Liked by 1 person


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