I am aged.

Jeebus. I am getting old. As of August this year, I should be completing my quarter life crisis, if things remain on schedule, when I turn 26. We'll see. At this point, I'm not hopeful. In the meantime, sometimes I forget that I'm not 18 anymore. Mostly when people yell at me and tell me I'm not 18 anymore when I am doing something absolutely retarded or trying to hit on college freshmen. But also when my brother drops a bomb of a question on me like the following. We're checking out Robot Chicken clips online because that's how we bond when he says, "Hey Blythe, what's a Trapper Keeper?" It's like I was smacked with a thousand leopard print and/or zebra striped slap bracelets. I suppose he doesn't know what pogs are either. Sweet Oden's Raven, I felt old. I don't know what the kiddies do these days to stay organized at school (my recent experience in public schools would suggest that they, in fact, do nothing to stay organized), but the TK was essential to keeping track of my assignments and most importantly, notes from my friend(s) and ones I wrote to myself from imaginary boyfriends. Unfortunately, I didn't keep any of my many Trapper Keepers and their accessories (all of which were mostly likely covered in stickers ranging from unicorns to STP) so I had no evidence to offer. I did, however, remember a South Park episode featuring this behemoth of organization.

The TK picture above totally sucks, but I couldn't find a better image. I remember mine being pretty sweet. But we all know my memory's not the best.

Cheers.

-b