carrot cake and wine

I was flipping through this month's issue of Vanity Fair (after I had poured over the amazingness of R-Patz's photos) when I stopped at a picture of what I thought was a chic 30-something sophisticated woman, until I read her little interview. This woman who I thought was at least 10 years older than me was actually my age! There she was posing in a pretty little white Lanvin dress, this overachieving minx, art advisor to the rich and famous...while I sat in my greying fluffy slippers and an old Johnny Depp t- shirt.

I know, I know...its a story in a magazine. And its Sunday, I have every right to be wearing Johnny Depp's face over my bosom. I have conflicting issues with myself over age. I feel too old to party hard but far too young to settle down. The Saturday nights of my "yoof" were spent in smoky bars and clubs, student dives and Scream pubs, raving and dancing the weekend (and week day) nights away. I notice that my social calender now consists more of dinner parties than parties. Last night, a little get together at a friend's house meant X-Factor, Wii games, beer, pizza...and tea. Smokers please gather on the roof terrace! (I have flashbacks of my student pad strewn with cigarette butts and empty beer bottles in the living room, 365 days of the year) When did we get so sensible? When did I become not only the owner of a vacuum cleaner, but of a variety of herbal teas and a cafetiere?

So, this not-so-old-old-fart is off to do some baking and daydream about my next tattoo (I'm thinking wild horses in black and grey) and finishing off my nails in that matte grey/beige colour I spied on Lauren Conrad's twitpic.

Ciao, ciao.