Ageist of innocence

To be a cougar or a Lolita? Well, I’m at that age where I’m still holding on to my 20s for dear life — too young to be called a cougar and too old to be sucking on a heart-shaped lollipop without looking retarded.

I have to say that I am perhaps a little of both. I have a Bruce Springsteen litmus test: If they don’t know what Dancing in the Dark is they are either too young or too old. I think this a sensible parameter.

My whole life I swore that I would never go “younger” since I held on to my daddy issues like a purple heart. I went out with older guys, eight years minimum and most importantly single. I was young enough to play brat and get what I wanted by pouting and yet old enough that my beau wouldn’t be condescending when I did make some sense.

Then, after 25, all those eight-years-and-above guys either got married or came out of the closet. Four years later, those boys who were in high school when you graduated college seem more appealing. They’re suddenly sprouting facial hair and have voices like radio deejays. Plus while you may like R&B, for them it’s a religion. Making your obsession American Boy seems very hip and normal.

Then you realize that you are more within their age bracket than that of the older men. Think about it.

Age:

20-25

26-30

31-35

36-40

Makes the eight-year age difference very creepy and all the more aging. I realize at this point I’ve hit my ceiling. I will more likely have something in common with a 25-year-old than a 37-year-old. Or at least have the same five-year plan.

I’m done proving I’m so sophisticated by going out with old farts. Falling into a coma at the opera (so over “the opera,” seriously!) and going on cruises... seriously. I will now embrace my MTV-loving self. If there is the The Hills, my reality show would be called Over The Hills. This show calls for more scintillating talent, meaning the oldies have to make way for the bright young things.

The thing is, in this age, at some point time has stopped for me. These younger guys are waaaaaaay more advanced. Seriously, somewhere around the time I was trying to figure out who my favorite Sex and the City character was, they went ahead and got MBAs and real jobs. When I was ready to date again, they had become T-1000s. Again, even with a younger guy, I still feel like the younger one. With less-resilient skin.

I’m still confused and no worldlier than they are. They have crap like gap years, which my lost generation used in liberal arts college to figure out what we wanted to do in life. Generation Y has turned into Generation Y-Not?

So I’m going to enjoy the springtime of humanity. Until, of course, the remake of the next Gossip Girl. Now, that’s a sign I’m old.