Cool

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When I'm cool, I'll know because I can tell people,

"Yeah, you know, most of my friends are in bands."

Then I'd lean back smugly as their eyes glaze over with visions of me crowdsurfing while singing every word to all the songs, going backstage after the show to "chill" with my band friends and drink free beer.

"Wow Kathleen," they'll say, " this is definitely the last place I imagined you to be... You always seemed the spinster-with-sixteen-cats-all-named-after-ex boyfriends type. I mean, come on. You're 37. How old are these "band friends" of yours? I bet 26, at most," they will add in a feeble attempt to find fault in my impressive relationships.

Knowing this, I will smile at at them the way one might when meeting a midget for the first time. (Jare from Something Like Opium taught me that.)

I then reply snidely, "after all, 37 is the new 24, haven't you heard?" and end with a burst of loud, "youthful" laughter, maybe just to spite them.

"But you still have a fake ID. Shouldn't you be more concerned with getting arrested then looking like 23 year old Brenda James from Texas? This is a terrible photograph. You look like a meth addict. And are you inside a Chili's?"

"No, it was Applebees."
A chunk of my confidence is lost now. Am I really that unconvincing?

"For Chrissake, Kathleen!"

Ok, so now I get defensive and hopefully can intimidate them back into being impressed.
"So what? I'm hip and I feel younger everyday. I get free drinks and free shows, I have a nightlife!" I reciprocate in a tone to take offense too, then strut off to catch a cab. The Scoreboard Virgins have a gig tonight.





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