(addendum: Not my birthday or anything, just thinking about it today. Feel free to send gifts anyways.)
Had you told my 16 year-old self that someday I would be twice that age plus one, I would have immediately imagined myself with a walker, sagging support hose, and attempting to use expired coupons for cigarette brands that no longer exist.
When you're 16, you admire people in their 20's- they can legally go to the bars that you only get into via wriggling through the moldy bathroom vents, and they (unless of course I dated them) had their own apartments.
"Independence!" screams the 20-something years.
But the 30s? The 30s where where you went to wither and die an unremarkable death. The 30's were where a leather miniskirt started looking "comical" rather than "cool", and where rocking a studded army jacket and ripped flannels to the grocery store started looking "homeless" rather than "edgy".
"Pathetic and mediocre!" screams the 30-something years, to a 10-something person.
Well...at least that's what my 16 year-old mind interpreted this current decade of my life to be. Sixteen year-old me didn't bother to plan for the next two hours, let alone the next two decades.
But here I am: alive, well, and not a pair of granny panties or bottle of Metamucil in sight. I mostly have all my original teeth, and I have yet to accidentally poop my pants. So far.
I made a list a while ago of all of the parts about me that have most noticeably changed since 1987ish, and I may as well post it here in the private forums known as the interwebs:
- knees- my left knee is slowly disintegrating, eventually I expect it to have the consistency of homemade applesauce. I'm going to hold out for surgery until I can get one of those replacement knees that plays the theme to "Sanford and Son" when I walk.
- Back- My posture is horrifying these days, but I figure down the road I'll have a second career as a hunchback at a Disney theme park somewhere.
- Sleeping habits- actually improved. Gone is the insomnia of my 20's. Now I'm working towards the "sleeping 22 hours a day" of my 80's, much like a cat.
- Feet- Man, these things don't age well, do they? I think I might know now what corns and bunions are, but that doesn't mean I want to.
- Hair- The stuff on my head is better than ever, yet grayer than ever, and luckily I have (so far) been spared the freakish and random stray hairs that people I know sometimes find on things like chins, ears, foreheads and such. The day I have to get my ears waxed is the day I start limiting my clothing to colorful nylon sport suits with metallic tennies.
- Face- I am (so far) loving everything about how my face is aging. Cheekbones appeared out of nowhere, and that cluster of hairy warts between my eyes is hardly noticeable anymore.
- Butt- Though I spend much, much more time suffocating it on the couch for marathon sessions of "Law and Order", it seems to be holding up. No "flat, saggy, old lady ass" happening, and luckily (knock on wood) no extreme widening or looking like a pair of cheap pantyhose stuffed with jell-o fruit salad.
- temperament- I have (mostly) given up the angry, pan-throwing, road-raging, starting fights in line for communion ways of my 20s. These days I mete it out sparingly, so if I go to town on you with a verbally abusive tirade that drags in your mother's possible past as a prostitute and that time you had sex with a sheep- you can sure as hell know that you definitely earned it.
- Humor- Where, in my youth, tripping and falling in front of a busload of Italian male models or not noticing that my skirt is tucked into my underpants until four hours after dressing would cause me to retreat into my room for three weeks to write angsty poetry about the incidents and how I blame it all on society's treatment of third-world kittens, now I just laugh it off. Oh, and sometimes take pictures and post it on my blog. I really just don't give a crap anymore, and we all know that shit is funny.
- Sex- I'm going for quality rather than quantity these days. When I want it I want it, but when I don't the Mr. best move on and leave me with my magazines, prescription pills and wine coolers. Let's just say that this is a slight (read: huge) change from my early 20's, but much like bathing and combing my hair- It gets done only when the mood strikes me. Sometimes I'm squeaky clean and have shiny, bouncy hair for weeks, sometimes I look like I spent the last week sleeping in a lice-infested monkey cave.
But seriously- if the booze, Velveeta and Doritos don't strike me down in the near future and I actually make it to 80-90, how bad is it going to be? I found an image generator that gave me an idea:
50-60 years from now:
Happy Wednesday, my aging little lice monkeys. Happy Wednesday.