I am getting old.

I am very aware of this fact at the present because this morning, when I walked into my office after one of the biggest party weekends of the year and found a stack of discipline slips in my box, I didn't think to myself, "those crazy kids, I bet they had some good times!" That's more than likely what the 22-year-old version of peacegrrl, new to the student affairs field and fresh from four years of undergrad partying, would have said. But the older, more crotchety peacegrrl looked at the 32 write-ups, with offenses ranging from dangerous levels of intoxication to sex in public, sighed, and thought, "What the hell is wrong with this generation? They're a bunch of hoodlums, I tell you!"

What a day. I guess I get to be the bad, mean authority figure for the next few weeks as I try to round all of these folks up for discipline meetings. Now more than ever it is SO super-important that I get a life outside of work. And look for a nice, suitable guy to provide companionship and good lovin'. And take time to list off the positive, great things about my job. Otherwise I really am going to shrivel up and turn into some demented version of the asshole guidance counselor in The Breakfast Club.

Ah, well, all is not lost. I had a good weekend, bought that new "He's Just Not That Into You!" book and tried to delve into the mysteries of the male psyche. Jammed to the Garden State soundtrack, which will definitely go down as one of the better investments I've made in the past few months. And I did what any normal stressed-out, weary, plagued-with-guy-troubles-or-depressing-lack-thereof girl always enjoys: bought some shoes. I have located the closest DSW Shoe Wearhouse, and my meager budget will suffer for it, I can tell you. But it's nice to know that as I ponder the next stages of my life, I can take comfort in my new brown leather boots. See? I'm so stressed I'm getting shallow....
-pg