I learned something yesterday that disturbed me. It was not that my roommate had eaten the last of the cookie dough, or that Ryan Phillipe and Abbie Cornish have split (who cares?), or even that an application now exists allowing people to (apparently) track how many times I have stalked their Facebook profiles.
No, instead, the news that unnerved me for a good, solid ten minutes after I read the article on people.com is this: Lizzie McGuire is engaged. For those of you readers that aren't a 19-23 year-old girl, Lizzie McGuire was the Hannah Montana of our generation. Played by Hilary Duff, Lizzie struggled through the ups and downs of middle school with the help of her best friends Gordo and Miranda, with the annoying interference of her little brother Matt and with the narrative help of a cartoon-version Lizzie. So, sometime last weekend, Hilary got engaged to her NHL boyfriend of over two years, Mike Comrie. You might be thinking: well, Hilary is a nice, wholesome actress in an industry of eating disorders and trips to rehab. What is your problem with her finding her happily-ever-after?
Here it is: in spite of the fact that I just received an email reminding me of the date and time of my convocation, and that ordering a cap and gown is on my to-do list, and that I have interviewed for actual jobs, the growing-up real-world thing is managing to remain a surreal, distant concept. Innumerable members of my high school graduating class will be getting married this summer, but I wrote that off as a fluke generated by the ultra-conservative Wheaton values. Evan Rachel Wood (also our age) got engaged a few months back, but since her affianced is Marilyn Manson (over twenty years our senior and likely to want the ceremony to occur under an arch of human skulls), I didn't allow that one to phase me either. But, if Lizzie McGuire (Hilary Duff) is getting married, we must finally, really, actually be getting old. She was a beacon of normality for our age group during those middle school years. And although she did not exactly run with the popular crowd at her fictional middle school (I blame her preference for pastels and crimping her hair), we thought she was great.
However, whether it unnerves me or not, graduation is approaching, and so is 'marriageable-age' for our age group (thanks, Lizzie, for being the first to take the plunge). I certainly won't be walking down the aisle anytime soon (I'm going to let boys our age work for a few years, so they can save up money to buy me a rock comparable to my old idol, Lizzie's). However, if some of you faithful readers decide to get hitched sooner rather than later (like our favorite former Disney star), I will happily attend your wedding ceremony, partake of your open bar and karaoke with your second cousins.
Also. To my readers that saw Shutter Island and reported back, assuring me that I could see it without fear of nightmares: here is your reward: yummy (Leo + Esquire + IRONING = heaven. Thanks to Caroline for the tip on these pictures!).
No, instead, the news that unnerved me for a good, solid ten minutes after I read the article on people.com is this: Lizzie McGuire is engaged. For those of you readers that aren't a 19-23 year-old girl, Lizzie McGuire was the Hannah Montana of our generation. Played by Hilary Duff, Lizzie struggled through the ups and downs of middle school with the help of her best friends Gordo and Miranda, with the annoying interference of her little brother Matt and with the narrative help of a cartoon-version Lizzie. So, sometime last weekend, Hilary got engaged to her NHL boyfriend of over two years, Mike Comrie. You might be thinking: well, Hilary is a nice, wholesome actress in an industry of eating disorders and trips to rehab. What is your problem with her finding her happily-ever-after?
Here it is: in spite of the fact that I just received an email reminding me of the date and time of my convocation, and that ordering a cap and gown is on my to-do list, and that I have interviewed for actual jobs, the growing-up real-world thing is managing to remain a surreal, distant concept. Innumerable members of my high school graduating class will be getting married this summer, but I wrote that off as a fluke generated by the ultra-conservative Wheaton values. Evan Rachel Wood (also our age) got engaged a few months back, but since her affianced is Marilyn Manson (over twenty years our senior and likely to want the ceremony to occur under an arch of human skulls), I didn't allow that one to phase me either. But, if Lizzie McGuire (Hilary Duff) is getting married, we must finally, really, actually be getting old. She was a beacon of normality for our age group during those middle school years. And although she did not exactly run with the popular crowd at her fictional middle school (I blame her preference for pastels and crimping her hair), we thought she was great.
However, whether it unnerves me or not, graduation is approaching, and so is 'marriageable-age' for our age group (thanks, Lizzie, for being the first to take the plunge). I certainly won't be walking down the aisle anytime soon (I'm going to let boys our age work for a few years, so they can save up money to buy me a rock comparable to my old idol, Lizzie's). However, if some of you faithful readers decide to get hitched sooner rather than later (like our favorite former Disney star), I will happily attend your wedding ceremony, partake of your open bar and karaoke with your second cousins.
Also. To my readers that saw Shutter Island and reported back, assuring me that I could see it without fear of nightmares: here is your reward: yummy (Leo + Esquire + IRONING = heaven. Thanks to Caroline for the tip on these pictures!).
ah Leo, you've come such a long way since your Gilbert Grape days...
ReplyDeleteas for the marriage thing, at least you don't have an aunt that reminds you every time you see her that "at your age, Stephanie, I was married with a house and a baby on the way". Thank you, Aunt Marcia.
Steph, you have an older brother. I think it's only fair that he have a house and a bun-in-the-oven first. Tell this to Aunt Marcia.
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