I’m 36 years old and …

Happy birthday to me! Yes, today’s the big day when I’m closer to 40 than I am to 30 but still feel like I’m 12. Remember when you used to know exactly how old you were? Like, exactly how many months … possibly days … until the next important birthday? Well in recent years I have resorted to a calculator to confirm my current age in moments of extreme doubt. And while I’m no longer worried about being too young for the bar or too young to be teaching high school, there are other things I’m definitely still doing.

I’m 36 years old and …

I’m still asking my mom how to cook most things.

I’m still incapable of resisting potato chips.

I’m still singing all the words to the Fresh Prince theme song.

I’m still watching new episodes of Law & Order: SVU. (I’ve literally been watching it for half of my life.)

I’m still unable to walk in high heels.

I’m still second guessing how to spell broccoli.

I’m still avoiding parallel parking at all costs.

I’m still mixing up left and right.

I’m still never watching The Exorcist.

I’m still confusing Al Pacino with Robert De Niro (and vice versa).

I’m still wondering what Meatloaf wouldn’t do for love.

I’m still calling my dad about car trouble.

I’m still thinking that 20 years ago was the 80s.

I’m still best friends with my partner for a Barbie Girl lip-sync routine in Grade 8 Drama.

I’m still not sure which shoes go with which outfits.

I’m still not buying things that require ironing.

I’m still unclear on how my taxes are calculated.

I’m still striving to impress my teachers (well, now it’s my children’s teachers …).

I’m still terrified of E.T.

I’m still really into Harry Potter.

I’m still eating popcorn like it’s a competitive sport.

I’m still not a fan of my food groups touching each other.

I’m still struggling to say vagina without embarrassment.

I’m still fighting my compulsion to pick my cuticles.

I’m still hoping to see The Spice Girls in concert.

I’m still expressing disappointment with “boo-urns.”

I’m still stressed out by breaking the rules.

I’m still not sure I can explain what the Internet actually is.

I’m still getting zits.

I’m still a very big fan of McDonald’s fries.

I’m still unable (and unwilling) to apply eyeliner.

I’m still hesitant to pay full price for something.

I’m still eager to buy something I don’t need just because it’s a good deal.

I’m still unclear on the difference between a sweet potato and a yam.

I’m still regretting choices I made decades ago.

I’m still saying: “It’s a moo point.”

I’m still managing an anxiety disorder.

I’m still attracted to anything with Hello Kitty on it.

I’m still only an A-cup.

I’m still convinced mint should never be mixed with chocolate.

I’m still attached to my childhood teddy bear.

I’m still reciting “Never Eat Shredded Wheat” to remember the cardinal directions.

I’m still mad about failing my first driver’s test.

I’m still not sure of the lyrics to Snow’s Informer.

I’m still most comfortable just chilling with my family.

I’m still not ready for high-waisted jeans.

I’m still overly distracted by celebrity gossip.

I’m still falling up stairs.

I’m still counting on my fingers.

I’m still feeling guilty about the candy I stole from my grandparents’ corner store.

I’m still thinking how my principal is my pal to make sure I use the right spelling.

I’m still fervently anti-raisin.

I’m still cooking way too much or not enough pasta.

I’m still ‘shipping Mulder and Scully.

I’m still unreasonably concerned about ordering enough food at a restaurant.

I’m still getting a ton of enjoyment out of neatly labeling things.

I’m still having nightmares about high school.

I’m 36 years old and …

I’m still not sure who decided I should be in charge of four children … and I’m still wondering when I’ll feel like an adult.

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