Suburbs Girl= Cougar?

I officially live in the suburbs.  With a bunch of people, in a nuthouse.  I used to sit in my cozy little personally decorated office to do work from home.  Now I find myself fighting for signal with the kid who lives behind us (probably surfing the interwebs for porn) and all the out of work housewives googling the items they see for sale on QVC daytime.  So I am on the constant search for my happy Zen workspace.  Where the internet connection is not affected by neighbors or by the weather.  I love Panera, but I always want to spend money and watch people instead of getting my work done. 

So I usually opt for the public library.  You can’t spend money there and there isn’t really anyone fun to watch (besides me).  It’s the same library I used to take my little brothers to, where I studied for my SATs, and LSATS.  It made it even better that I had convinced my mom the night prior to make me a sandwich.  Brown baggin’ it at the library… woohooo.  But you aren’t allowed to have food in there.  But I sneak it and rebel.  Today I realize as I am walking in, in a white tee and black leggings, that I officially could care less what I look like.  I just hope that I put deodorant on and brushed my teeth.  I find myself thinking about wrinkle cream and whether or not my thighs touch when I walk, but I could completely care less that my hair is a frizzy mess, I have not a speck of make-up on and likely am sporting VPLs.  Is this the glory of getting old, or just the fact that living in the burbs means I will see no one who even cares what I (or they) look like. 

After the library I headed for super suburban lunch with Mommy and we met at Burger King.  I was super delighted to see they had wireless internet there and thought this may need to be my new hangout.  We order a few things off the dollar menu and I go up to get ketchup.  “DAMN…”  Ok I must have been hearing things.  There is no way that 15 year old just checked me out.  Oh there it is again.  Yep yep, just got scoped by a youngin.  Much to my own surprise, I was completely uncomfortable with the situation.  Is that really how old Bieber is?  In some messed up way I could be his mother.  (It is physically possible to have a baby at 13!)

I get over it and giggle a little.  My ex’s favorite thing to say to put me down (one of many)… is “Grow Up.”  Other variations include, you are an immature piece of sh**, you are a 12 year old in a grown woman’s body… and my personal favorite…. You and your friends act like a bunch of F*&^ing 16 year old girls.  REALLY???!  Thanks, that’s awesome because my life is way more awesome now than it was at 16.  My face is clear, I have money (sometimes) when I go to the mall, and I still find it completely appropriate to dress as my favorite pop stars. 

So today while sitting in the kitchen at my kitchen table playing JB on iTunes, my 17 year old brother comes out.  He says “Seriously, is that Bieber?” (We’re on a last name basis with him here) and when I say yes he says "Aren’t you embarrassed? That kid is like 14."  "15!"  I correct him.  And then ask him to bring over some of his friends…. Hahaha… adventures in pre-cougardom.