act your age not your shoe size

Signs that I may be further regressing back towards adolescence:

• As I currently write this, my hair is in two ponytails and a bandana. Seriously. And I'm so comfortable with it that I'm thinking of keeping this 'do in my arsenal for when I move back to California. How long before my friends stage an intervention, do you think?
  
  
• I creep around the house at night, sometimes to secretly watch the Colbert Report.
  
  
• I made a cake with Coca Cola today. Okay, technically this might not be about adolescence. It might be about regressing back to my trashy roots. It might be a long story. It might be best saved for another time.
  
  
• My 22-year old cousin should shoulder the blame for this, but then again, I didn't put up any much of a fight- I joined the masses that were out to see The Transformers this weekend. I have a lot to say about this movie, and here is where the evident signs of adolescence come into play: most of what I have to say is positive (!?!).
  
  
• I am listening to music like this week's song- Junior Senior's Take My Time. It sounds like something that might be blaring at a rollerskating rink or a high school dance, something that should be accompanied by Solid Gold dancers. Yet I listen to it all the time, in the car, while I'm running, any time I am in need of a spaz attack.

It might be time to make another run out of EBF. Unfortunately, that is easier said than done at the moment, but I am working on it, since my sanity hangs in the balance, clearly. I do, however, think that being unemployed has simply peeled away the charade that I am mature, thus exposing my undoubtedly arrested development. Then again, I suppose we're all childish about something or another. I could probably write a list twice as long outlining why my parents have regressed, possibly all the way back to infancy. It's weird- it's as though all of us just have flashes of maturity, moments of lucid thought, and the rest of time, we may as well be chasing after the ice cream truck.

p.s. If anyone ever snarled at me the way that Rafa does when he's really in the thick of a fight, I am fairly certain my knees would go all wobbly on me. Am I in need of therapy?