THE APOPCALYPSE: CULTURE ON THE VERGE.

Booze clues: Legal or not?

Thanks to botox, Pearl Cream, a cursed portrait genetics, at 32 I can still pass as a school girl. Like me, My Younger Boyfriend also defies age. While some guys bald and bloat at 25, his emo locks, skinny jeans and custom Dunks could land him the role of American sk8r at Degrassi High.

For the most part, our kiddie looks are fodder for fun, like the time we crashed the 8th grade prom in Irvington, VA. (“You two have to leave. No, not after ‘Lollipop.’ Now.”) BUT, it can be frustrating when we’re mistaken for kids in grown up situations… (more…)

Boy, oh boy. As in, I am dating one.

My Younger Boyfriend recently turned 25, narrowing our age gap to 7, vs. 8, years. I feel slightly less dirty when I tell people our ages (and they always seem to ask), you know, the subtle difference between saying “I maimed your mother” vs “I killed her.”

My Younger Boyfriend is sort of freaking out about his age. “I’m sooooo ooooooold,” he’ll moan.

I either roll my eyes or kiss him.

When I turned 25, I had a rollerskating party at The Roxy.  Mr. Cheeks’ “Lights, Camera, Action” was my Bday jam. Since then, The Roxy has closed and Cheeks has fallen off the face of pop. My Younger Boyfriend doesn’t miss ‘em. He’s never heard of them. (more…)