Fountain of... Shit, I'm Getting Old

Part of the reason I ever started this blog in the first place was because I kind of like my own voice.  This means that I tend to talk.  A lot.  Like, a whole lot.  Like, voted Class Chatterbox, a lot.  And if I get drunk and I'm in a really happy and jovial mood, there's a chance that you'll want to stuff either your dirty socks or a frozen hotdog down my throat to get me to shut up.  But that rarely ever happens.  Me getting drunk, I mean.  Seriously.  I, like, never get drunk because it's so...beneath my dignity.  And, I also have some land for sale in an ocean somewhere.
Anyway, back to ME (mememememmememe!!) and Skampcity.  One of the reasons I started this blog was because I more or less find myself and my life hilarious and feel that my utmost purpose in life is to amuse myself.  And if the rest of you find me funny too, well that's a really good side benefit.  And if you think I'm REALLY funny, you can always toss me some cash.  Because Skamp really really likes cash.  The bigger the bills, the happier it'll make me, I assure you.  Whoever said that money doesn't buy happiness has clearly never lived on Ramen for lunch.  (Well, psshhht, neither have I but I imagine it'd make me feel miserable and homeless)
Anyway, part deux.  One of the reasons I started this blog was because I like my voice.  I like my take on the world and wanted to share myself with that world.  And so what I'm trying to say is that I'm writing this blog because I'm a complete and unapologetic narcissist.  In fact, I'll go out on a limb and say that anyone who writes a blog (and shares it) is a narcissist.  And if they say they aren't they're totally lying.
So.  Take all that narcissism and my (coolest and most interesting) blog (in the entire universe) and I've got myself a really great way to keep myself occupied for hours.  But not from writing, because you know what I do when I publish a new post?  I check my stats obsessively, watching my "number of times viewed" go up.  Why do you think I've got my views ticker at the top of my page?  It's so I have the quickest, most direct line to gratification as bloggingly possible. And if, by some stroke of really bad luck, I see those numbers stall out for too long, I start getting totally freaked and wonder why the hell people aren't reading my shit.  I get butt hurt and my self-esteem begins to plummet (thankfully it's got a long way to go before it fully tanks out).  Delightedly, I'm almost always blessed with enough views to soothe my wee little ego.  Props to you guys, you're reenforcing my obnoxious behavior and  I love you for it.
Well.  Now my secret's out.  I'm a total egomaniac.  And I've always loved the fact that people have always thought that I was younger than I am, typically guessing me to be in my 20s--hip hip!   Thank you strangers!  And then, well, and then this week happened.  This week, Skamp was told TWICE (as if once wasn't enough) by 20-something year old kids that they thought I was in my 40s.  Insert sigh of resignation here.  Skamp, in her 40s?  Well, it's not like being in my 40s would be a bad thing--if I were in my 40s, goddammit.  I mean, I wear my age of 35 with pride, and feel that I always wil.  But that's because people have always thought me younger than I actually am.  But this new thing, I'm totally beside myself and don't have any idea what to do about it.
So...what the fuck?  What's happening to me?! I feel just like that kid David from that YouTube video-- "Is this real life?  Why is this happening to me?"  Only, instead of just leaving the dentist, I've just been told I'm ancient.  I feel like I'm walking around, feeling funny and thinking you all have four eyes.
Watch the following video (in the event you haven't seen it because you've had your head so far up your ass that you can see daylight) and you'll see exactly how this is making me feel:

(Ain't that just stupidly hilarious?!)

So what the fuck, fuck?  It's not my clothes.  It's not my stellar and shiny personality making me older.  Ah HA.  It's my fucking hair.  I just got my hair cut by a fancy hair-doer guy and I think maybe he's made me look like an old lesbian.  But I can fix that.  I can fix my hair.  I can stop washing it and get that pseudo-rocker-chick/soccer-mom look going again, what I had going for me when people used to think I was cool.  And then once again I'll be on top of my age game.
Yes, I think that not washing my hair is going to be my very own fountain of youth.  But don't tell anyone.  And whatever you do, do NOT smell my comb right after I've used it.