After I pulled my Achilles tendon
masturbating exercising last week, I had to face facts: I am old.
Not grandma-take-your-false-teeth-out-to give a guy a blow jay old, but
Let’s see. Today, I got excited about half priced asparagus.
Last week, I found a grey hair in my eyebrow. I tweezed that bitch out, and I think I scared the others away.
A few months ago, I turned 45. And it made me think about some of the things I no longer do, now that I’m old.
Those carefree days of college drinking to the point of getting your stomach pumped are over. At 21, it’s cool to coming home puking at 5 am, wondering where your underwear went.
The last time I drank heavily, my old college boyfriend poisoned me with Vodka and Red Bull. It took me three days to recover. I laid on the couch feeling like a swamp donkey, praying my eyeballs wouldn’t fall out.
At this age, I realize that nothing good has ever come out of waking up on a strange lawn covered in mysterious contusions. Ditto trekking through the snow in the wee hours in search of a drug dealer and a bar still open. Do you really think when you get inside that the shitty, drug-thirsty patrons are going to get more pleasant rather than desperate and sad? NEVER.
WEAR SHORT SHORTS AND KNEE HIGH BOOTS
It’s no secret that I dress like a teenager in a frantic attempt to beat back death. But last summer my BFF staged a fashion intervention when I tried to pull off short shorts and knee-high boots. Apparently, at 45, it doesn’t say “fashion forward” as much as “old hooker.” Ditto the sky-high plastic heels from Frederick’s of Hollywood, which paradoxically, turn a confident sexy stride into a penguin shuffle.
She also encouraged me to light a bonfire and throw some of my slogan tee shirts in it. I guess Jesus really isn’t my homeboy.
However, I adamantly refuse to stop shopping in the junior department. Especially for panties. I feel safer knowing Spiderman is guarding my crotch.
DOUBLE DUTCH JUMP ROPE
As a kid, I was REALLY GOOD at Double Dutch. Damn.
It was sublime to be a white girl working it on a black housing project playground, executing a perfect Double Dutch circle turn – which is all about turning speed, leg position, and listening to the ropes.
While visiting my cousin in Brooklyn, I happened upon a group of kids jumping rope and decided to join in, to see if I still had it.
I didn’t. I was way less a Double Dutch diva and waay more a hulking Quasimodo, getting publicly flogged.
ATTEMPT ANYTHING I’VE SEEN IN A CARTOON
As a kid I always imagined I could walk in mid-air after stepping off a cliff. Sadly, I know better now.
I also realize that:
I can’t have access to any item, i.e., a canoe, by simply reaching behind me,
Getting electrocuted will NOT turn me momentarily into a skeleton,
If someone points a rifle at me, I cannot tie the barrel into a knot,
If I’m really surprised by what I’m seeing, my eyes will NOT temporarily pop out of my head. Accompanied by an AAAAAOOOOOOGA sound.
CLIMB THE MONKEY BARS AT THE PLAYGROUND
I used to love running around on a playground when Little Dude was 3 or 4. But somehow, I went to sleep on the eve of my 40th birthday with a youthful, supple back, and awoke the next morning with the back of an 85-year-old potato farmer.
Remember when playgrounds were fun? Sure, there was a good chance you’d be scalded by a hot metal slide, or walk away with tetanus, but that’s what memories are made of.
The ground wasn’t coated with soft recycled rubber as most are today – they were asphalt. Remember being hurled from a spinning merry-go-round, praying you wouldn’t end up a flesh-colored stain on the asphalt? Good times.
DO “THE SAFETY DANCE”
This was perhaps one of the most bizarre song/videos to come out of the 80’s. Someone, probably Johnny Depp’s acting coach, directed a crazy Canadian band called ‘Men Without Hats’ on a bizarre romp through a medieval village. This reenactment of a Renaissance fair gone horribly awry starred a handsome lead singer, a dwarf, and a deranged blonde woman.
Picture Tywin Lannister’s children tripping balls, and you have the idea.
When I did the Safety Dance 20 years ago, people recognized what I was doing. Now? Nobody understands that I’m flinging my arms stiffly into an “S” position. They think I’m having a seizure.
LAP DANCE AT PARTIES
No one wants a lap dance from a drunken, makeup-smeared middle-aged woman at the company holiday party.
But when I was 25? I INVENTED that shit.
TALK LIKE A GANGSTA
I may write things like, “I’ll cut a bitch!” But I never would say it out loud. No 45-year-old suburban woman should.
You’re sitting behind the wheel of a Honda Odyssey with groceries from Costco melting in the back. You’re in the parent pick-up line at school, not a character in Orange is the New Black. Calm the fuck down.
CRUSH ON BOY BANDS
As a girl, I was obsessed with the Jackson 5. My early masturbatory fantasies involved Jermaine and Marlon duking it out over who would get to deflower me.
Even as a 20-something, I unapologetically crushed on Color Me Badd. You remember them, don’t you? Their big hit, “I Wanna Sex You Up,” was notable for coining the douchiest come-on line ever, and is probably responsible for making their sole source of income residual checks from VH1’s “Where Are They Now” show.
But nowadays? Un-uh. After I described to a friend a sex dream I had about Kendall from Big Time Rush, I was accused of being “creepy.” People! He’s only in high school on the TV show! The lad is 24!
Still, my advice? Go into ‘private session’ mode on Spotify. Otherwise, everyone can see your “recently played” list and you look like a pedophile.
PUT UP WITH BULL SHIT
That’s the upside to middle age. You take the “fuck you” pill. Life is too short to take people’s bullshit.
If some wealthy, self-involved, yuppie/hipster, granola-eating broad at Whole Foods wants to wrongly accuse me of jumping the line, she’d better not get nasty with me. Cause I will cut a bitch!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go yell at some kids to GET OFF MY LAWN!!
For your viewing pleasure: The Safety Dance
The power lines scattered throughout the Medieval village just add to the surreal, WTF? quality of it all.
What things do you no longer do, that you used to?
Talk to me. I’m listening.