Good morning, Tuesday. It's a gorgeous day in NYC and supposed to go up to 50 degrees to boot. It's a heatwave, people. Let's enjoy it.
In other news, I am quite excited for the premiere of the next season of "Girls" this weekend. You all know I love that show, and adore Lena Dunham beyond reasonable comprehension. She says everything I wanted to say in my 20s but was to afraid or insecure to, so hipster hats off to her. She's a brave and brilliant soul.
Over the weekend, I had one of those moments that made me relieved to be as old as the hills, and no longer entrenched in that battleground known as the 20s. I read an article on Zosia Mamet, who plays Shoshanna on the show. In that article, she noted that nobody tells you how much your 20s suck- you're so willing to get past puberty and avoid "real" adulthood that maybe you don't even realize it. Oh, I realized it. Believe me. My 20s were, well, an absolute shitshow. Sure I had a fabulous time there, but talk about toxic, f'ed up, and generally confused. I didn't know who I was, what or who I wanted, and which end was my ass and which was my oft-hungover brain. Cut to the steps of my building this weekend- where one of my neighbors, the one in his 20s who wears a skicap with his suit to work (always feels weird somehow- not a cap, but a hat you would wear as a child when you ski) and who never says hello, was having THAT conversation with his girl.
There they were in the cold, having just returned from buying artichoke dip and chips from Trader Joe's, having an argument right out there for all to see. It was not a loud argument- it was hushed and tear filled and well, sad. I quickly turned the key in the door so as to give them some privacy, and when I went back outside half an hour later, they were still there. Hunched, hushed, and tear stained. I heard the girl say, "you were not like this when we met". Sigh. Young love. So deep. So tragic. So dangerous. (If you weren't or aren't like this in your 20s, good for you. But most of you were and are so read on).
What I wanted to tell the girl, the pretty girl who was clearly having a moment in plain view, was that this guy was pretty much a douche. I see him every day leaving for work, and he never says hello. And the whole grade school ski hat with pom pom and suit thing. Nope. That's a sign. But you wouldn't know that when you're in your 20s and somebody tries to love you and you try to love them. You think somehow you can fix that ski cap, and sure, you can get him to give up the ski cap in favor of some other head covering, but he's not really going to give it up. Not in his 20s anyway, and chances are, no other time in his life either. But you don't know that yet, and you're not going to know it until you're midway through your 30s, though when you turn 30 a lot of fucking lights do go on. It's like the Fourth of July, really.
So as I watched pom pom head break up with his little lady, taking her down for all the world to see at midday in Brooklyn, I felt so sad for her, maybe for both of them, but more for her (she's on my team, after all). I wanted to tell her that in about five years, she's going to look back on this guy and his artichoke dip and loud chewing and bad wardrobe choices and thank her lucky stars that he turned out to be Mr. Wrong. I wanted to say that there will probably be a few more jerks to get through before you find the one who makes you feel like bringing those Trader Joe's bags inside and cuddling up on the sofa with a marathon of Scorcese or Apatow or John Hughes, or whatever really. I wanted to let her know that I have been there, and though I had more fun than most people have in a lifetime, I too felt cold on those steps at one point, wishing things were different and hoping they would be someday. And we all know how that story turned out- David wears neither ski hats or suits on a daily basis and is the man I was always looking for.
All I can say to you twentysomethings out there is you are so lucky to have a champion like Lena Dunham, who shows the loathsome qualities of said age, when you're not very likable because really, you don't like yourself a whole lot. But some day, when you start noticing those greys and blame those crow's feet on years of not wearing your glases when you should have (ahem), it will just be better. You'll have new challenges, but ski cap guy won't be one of them. You'll simply be stronger and cooler and you'll dig yourself a lot more. But if you're still dating ski cap guy into your 30s or beyond, you're a mess. Don't do that. It's only really allowed in your 20s and for about 2 minutes into your 30s. After that, get thee to a therapist, or a nunnery. Either way, I can't wait for "Girls" to begin- I so relate to the show and also feel relieved every time I watch it that I'm not that young and messy anymore. It's tough out there.
And that's what's up this don't mean to be smug, but I'm cool with being old kind of Tuesday in the chick filled isle of Manhattan, listening to Hot Chip on my headphones and moving forward. Sure it's fun being a "girl", but really it's more fun being a woman. I may not get it right all the time, but my Hannah/Lena moments are fewer and further between. XO