Baby Girl came home from school last week singing “It’s hip to be a square”, which on one hand, made me laugh because it’s a terrible old song that somebody was witty enough to turn into a shape-teaching tool, yet on the other hand, made me think about how un-hip I am. In so many ways.
Let me run down a few of them for you:
1. I don’t eat quinoa. I may try it one day, but probably long after it’s not hip anymore.
2. I use the “kids in a sandbox” approach to making adult friends – I actually invite people to have coffee if I think they’re cool, or I may even invite them to my house or out for lunch. Sometimes I even do this after only meeting someone once, briefly. Aloof is not my area of expertise.
3. I worry that people are mad at me or don’t like me for some reason (yes, even people I’ve never met) if they don’t reply to my tweets. I want people to like me and feel bothered if they don’t. But only if I like them, of course.
4. I don’t watch SOA, Downton Abbey, Mad Men, Orange is the New Black, or any other TV (with the exception of the quality programming found on ABC’s Revenge, The Weather Network, CBC news or CP24). In related news – we don’t even have Netflix.
5. I’m not on Pinterest, Instagram, StumbleUpon, Tumblr, Vine, LinkedIn or any other social media than Facebook and Twitter.
6. I wear Crocs in my house. All the time, as slippers. Sometimes even when people come over.
7. I like typing on a laptop more than a tablet or smart phone. I like buttons more than a flat screen image of a keyboard. I actually miss my old Blackberry.
8. I like ending conversations of any sort (yes, even on social media) with some traditional form of pleasantry like “Bye!” or “Talk to you later!” or “Have a great day!” instead of just leaving a discussion dangling in the wind with no closure.
9. I double space after periods. That’s how I was taught to type back in 1984, so I will not apologize for learning it well.
10. I don’t find humour in people getting the shit scared out of them, or people getting the beats (not the Dr Dre kind) or imitations of people with physical or mental challenges.
11. I don’t do any sports that I can talk about on social media. I don’t do any sports that I can talk about anywhere. Ok, I don’t do any sports.
12. I wear my pyjamas under my yoga pants to drive Baby Girl to school. And pick her up. I remove the yoga pants for the hours in-between.
13. Kale revolts me. And yes, I’ve tried kale chips.
14. I have 3 cats. I adore them and I’m not ashamed to admit that. I post pictures of them online, and convince myself that I am not a crazy cat lady because I draw the line at owning clothes with animal pics on them, or having little animal chachkies around my home.
15. I am verbose. Why say it in one sentence, when you can use five or six? I joined Twitter to practise limiting my words to 140 characters. #EpicFail.
16. I follow people back on Twitter if they follow me and they’re not trying to sell me more followers, don’t have a profile that’s in a language I don’t read or speak, don’t have an egghead profile picture with 1 tweet and 254,592 followers or don’t give me the heebeegeebees for some reason.
17. I respond to almost all of the comments on my blogs – good or bad, almost all tweets to me that aren’t weird or rude or trying to sell me stuff, and all emails that aren’t from spambots or marketing firms trying to buy ad space on my blog.
18. I feel awkward talking about my experiences with depression, so I don’t. I don’t judge those that do – in fact I may have a bit of envy that they are comfortable sharing, but I’m not. I’m not ashamed, I just can’t do it. Yet, at least.
19. I put myself “out” there. I comment on blogs of people I don’t know, I tweet to strangers.
20. I still get zits. I still refer to them as zits.
21. I didn’t dig the Kendrick Lamar/Imagine Dragons mash-up at the Grammys. I’d never heard of half of the nominees at the Grammys.
22. I constantly worry about my phone battery dying because I don’t own one of those little portable battery charger packs.
23. I get manicures biweekly, but my eyebrows resemble Frida Kahlo’s. I cut and colour my hair 3 times per year, and I’m fastidious about my pits, but I declare a moratorium on leg-shaving between November and April to avoid wearing long-johns. Don’t even ask about the equator zone, unless I will be sporting a swimsuit the next day. Basically, I’m a confused sasquatch.
24. I don’t dig zombies.
25. I’m not fake. I’m a sincere, loyal and sometimes overly-friendly person. Most of the time I’m pretty content being just who I am – hip, or not.
Bonus Addendum: I can’t believe I forgot about this in the original post, but that’s just another testament to how unhip I really am: I don’t play Candy Crush.
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