I am HARDCORE. In plaid.

I don’t know what got into me. Or maybe it’s what never got out. Confession: The other night I bought two pairs of awesome pants at Hot Topic.

Yes, I just wrote “awesome pants.”

Yes, I just wrote “Hot Topic.”

Yes, I am 38 years-old.

LOOK, I am an 80s girl at heart and they had these amazing plaid clam diggers in different colors YES PLAID with zipper pockets and these, like, metal studs and they go super cute with my flowy black top and YES I AM TOO OLD for Hot Topic but… but…

…I liked them. And no, they are not entirely me—not me anymore, not the me of NOW—I’m noticing something strange happening to me lately (lately being anytime in the last 9 months). It’s been hard to figure out, but… I think I’m now attracted to all things hardcore. Seriously hardcore.

Like my recent affinity for Hot Pockets. Who doesn’t love a delicious scoop of cheesy goop molded into a rectangle? And those clever little cardboard wraps for the microwave to “crisp” them up? Believe me when I tell you that the inventor of the Hot Pocket was hardcore. Only a true microwave culinaire would think about that cardboard.

Or my desire to go bowling lately. What is that? That is HARDCORE. There is no other sport nearly as badarse as bowling. Don’t believe me? Watch Kingpin.

I’ve also been craving the snacks of my youth. Remember Lemon Heads? Or the big, long Charleston Chews? I used to like them frozen. Not that I my hyperactive twelve year-old self had the patience to wait for them to freeze, mind you. One could buy them that way at the community pool. (Remember community pools?) And while I make do now with modern candies like Hot Tamales, (hardcore), I do miss the sugary goodness of the old Now & Laters, back when they could break your teeth. Plus I’m pretty convinced all candies were way bigger back when I was two feet shorter.

… and while it’s all decidedly less hardcore, lately I’m also missing rainbow flip-flops, cherry-flavored lip gloss and my mom’s gigantic station wagon with the AM radio blasting Chicago’s “Saturday in the Park.” I miss long, lazy summer days, Drumsticks, scary movies about sharks, Depeche Mode, Sixteen Candles, watching Days of Our Lives at 3:00, listening to Live 105 on the radio, riding my bike past dark, and wondering what it would be like to have a boyfriend or go to a party or not live with my parents anymore.

Enter the deep, resonant sound of the chi gong. Aaah, realization.

I took my stepdaughter to get her driver’s license. Her nervousness was endearing and her desire palpable. Months of preparation and years of yearning culminated with this one moment at the curb. And for that brief moment, when I repeated my father’s advice (“You’re a great driver and you’ll pass the test but you know what? If for some reason you don’t, it’ll be okay. It really will. You really can take it again.”) I remembered the delicious taste of innocence.

…and big candy.

…and bowling with my friends.

…and clam diggers. Awesome pants.

Plus, I looked really good in them. I mentioned they go with my flowy top, right?

cross-posted to centralvalleymoms.com