It’s My Party, and I’ll Cry If I Want To – Part 3

Thursday, June 28th, 2012
Lisa Simpson, frustrated, sitting at her computer with her head back, mouth agape, and tongue sticking out

What I imagine you look like seeing another post about this. Sorry.

Picking up from Tuesday

I know, this is part three. It’s like, “Aurora, we get it. You’re super insecure about your age. You think a lot of people of all ages are cool, and you wish the world thought that too. How many days of our lives are you going to ramble on about this?”

Um, I’m not sure. This is one of those topics that I get super fired up about.

“You know, if you didn’t mention age, no one would even think about it or ask you about it.” I thought so too for a while. Not true. People are curious about other people. Rather than pretending that I don’t get asked about my age, and completely ignoring, hoping all curiosity will go away, I have to address it head on. Head on-ish. Address it by blabbering on so much that by the end of my posts about chronological age, you’ll think, “Man, I don’t care! Let’s talk about anything else!”

(That wasn’t my original strategy, but I kind of think that’s sort of what’s happening right now.)

I’m not an idiot. I know you have Google. Not to mention that I’m always yapping about my life all over this blog, so you probably have a pretty good grasp on approximately how old I am. Realistically, with all the facts about my life, I could only be so old or so young. I even bragged about my incredible 3rd (read: last) place finish in the 18-24 year-old group. So, you’ve got a pretty small window right there. “Get over it!” – My advice to myself.

Going back to what I was talking about in part 2 – the joys of being born when I was.

Classic Caylan. (That’s not even her phone.) (It took her about 40 seconds to find a picture of herself looking at a phone when I asked her for one for this blog.)

I didn’t have a smartphone when I was in high school. I had this old thing you might not remember – it was simply a cell phone. I was still somewhat glued to it (as those young-ins are today), obnoxiously texting my friends. But it’s nothing like my sister’s use of her iPhone. (I relentlessly make fun of her in person for never looking up from her phone. So, I feel fine making fun of her for it on the blog, you know, since I do it to her face all the time… Well, to the top of her head since she never looks up.)

The best thing about being born right when I was and not a minute later? I got to live in a world where I sort of kind of remember Michael Jackson actually being popular. I am pretty much the cutoff for whether you knew who he was or you didn’t.

I remember the huge hubbub when he got divorced. Because he was still famous. He wasn’t famous for what he used to be. He was honest-to-goodness famous for what he currently was.
Not that I think the media should’ve cared so much about his personal life. But they did. Because he was wildly famous. Because he was wildly talented. They even played his music videos on MTV! Insane, right?

My love for Michael Jackson brought so much to my life and informed so many big decisions of what I wanted be when I grew up and how I wanted to get there. My entire life is different because of his genius. (I know it sounds so silly to say, but I don’t care. It will never stop being true.) And if I were just few years younger, I don’t think I would’ve known who he was. Already as it is, I was a little young to actually be listening to him, or to be aware of him. Most kids were paying attention to kid stuff. But I had a super cool dad who listened to Michael Jackson. (Thank goodness.)

Back to my ramblings about age, I am always flabbergasted and unbelievably impressed when someone just says their real age. Out loud. Without hesitation. I envy and admire those people. They seem so happy and comfortable and honest – all great qualities that I wish I were giving off.

But for practical purposes of trying to live and work in entertainment, sometimes I have to try to come off closer to thirty. Sometimes I have to try to come off as closer to sixteen. (Ageism works in both directions, yo.)

This is where I’ll pick up when I continue the rant! (Oh yeah, it’s still going.) (But I promise to end it by the end of the week. Please don’t hate me over my incessant rambling. I want to be loved in spite of this!)

I'd love to hear from you! So whaddya say?