Busy Blog-Hopping, Thank You!

In case you’re wondering why Pissy isn’t Posting…it’s because she’s been spending all her time Poking around on your Pages and giving Props to you. You People Print faster than I can Peruse! Anyway, Pretend I just left something Profound for you and allow me the time I need away. Or… better yet, I’ll leave you a re-Post from this past February to tide you over. Hope you enjoy!


Aging. Getting comfortable in your own skin. How exactly do you do that when it’s ever changing, and you don’t have a chance to get used to it before it shifts again? Why as 50 is intruding quickly upon me (21 months away to be exact) do I make comparisons between a threadbare, comfortable chair and myself? You know the one most of us have: A family heirloom you can’t part with, or one that is simply too comfortable and broke in by the shape of your ass it’s irreplaceable. Over the years you’ve cleaned it, covered worn areas with doilies, etc. Eventually relying on an entire slipcover to disguise it’s age. So too I feel kept and slipcovered: Shaped by my surroundings (people and places), and comfortable to those who know me. Slipcovered in anti-aging creams, age-defying makeup, under wire bra’s, and hair color. I can’t really laugh too loud at celebrities who don hair extensions, cram their asses in Spanx, get botox injections, tummy tucks, and face lifts. After all, aren’t what us regular women doing just a welfare version of the same?

Other than the annoying task of upkeep, in a lot of ways aging isn’t too bad I suppose. It does have it’s perks: For most of us children are on their way out of the house or already gone, which leaves more you time. We’re wiser and hopefully more confident. Other women are less catty because you no longer pose a threat like you once did. You can generally speak your mind and it raises little eyebrow because you’ve now earned the right in the eyes of society to be a bitch. You’re almost entitled to be cranky now.

You know the only thing that really bothers me about aging is looking like a sourpuss of sorts compared to those around me who are still in denial of the process we’re going through. They poo pooevery gripe I have about it. They tell me they feel better than ever. I say, “Hey, that’s great. More power to ya.” They tell me they think they’ve never looked better. I say, “Hey, I’m glad you’re so confident.” They say, “You’re only as old as your feel.” I respond, “..er..what?” Oh, hell no! You’re not laying that on me, because I didn’t feel old until I was old.

I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here by saying, I don’t care how young you feel, the fact that you can’t pull off a school girl uniform any longer without looking like a complete looney-toon means your old. Not just old…DAMN OLD! I think it’s wonderful that your mind works differently than mine and you can convince yourself you’re still young, thereby making it easier to walk into old age with a smile on your face because your oblivious and in denial. Sorry, I’m a realist…and cannot. I’m going to dig in my heels and be drug by force, if necessary, because I understand what being old means; you’re closer to taking a dirt nap. Silly me, but I don’t see that as a reason to smile.

I see no shame in admitting I’m getting old, making fun of myself, and having occasional bouts of pissiness over it. If it makes those of you who are clinging to your youth and the image you had of yourself ten, twenty years ago uncomfortable, how about keeping that opinion to yourself. Don’t try and coax me into your delusion. Don’t shake your head and try to make me feel like a pessimist. I don’t agree with you, but do I snicker to your face? Hell no, I have the courtesy to do it behind your back.

What I want to know is, when did OLD become a dirty word? Both my parents got old. My sisters and their husbands, my brother and his wife; all in their fifties and sixties are old. Some of my most cherished friends, old..old..old.. Sorry, but I have and always will consider old after forty. That’s when the eyes start to fail you, the body starts to ache, gravity takes hold of you, and your mood starts to change. When your body is starting to tell you you’re old…well then your OLD, and you’d better start listening to it!

I don’t think getting old is so much the culprit of your fear, as how you’ve been taught to view it. Let’s face it; Mom and Pop didn’t exactly set a standard for what growing old could look like. I remember my mother at my age: Polyester pants and house robes. Went and had her hair washed and styled once a week, and every morning on the off days would find her in the bathroom wasting half a can of Aqua Net trying to spray and shift the waves back into place. ((Ewwww!!! The horror of it!)) I shudder thinking about it even today. Wouldn’t that shit itch?

     I am my mother’s daughter in a lot of ways: I have her small frame and delicate hands. I have her warrior attitude and sometimes foul mouth. I was blessed with her generous side and forgiving nature. I am a nurturer like she was. That is pretty much where the comparison ends. You’ll never see me in polyester; I like tight-fitting, low-rise jeans. It wouldn’t be uncommon to find me in the summertime with my hair in a skull bandana, and a tiny, tank top slung low to show some cleavage and my tattoos, riding on the back of an old Harley. I don’t wear shirts that read, “World’s greatest MOM!” Mine have captions like, “ I have the Pussy so I make the rules!” My idea of an evening out is pitcher beer and pool, not bingo. I am my mother’s daughter, but I am also meGetting Old shouldn’t be the words responsible for your fear. Acting Oldshould be.

All of you continue to be sheep and stand on the assembly line of life being pushed forward with a smile on your face, completely unaware that time is passing you by, if that’s what you choose. Not me. I’ll be the one on the back of the scoot bitching about growing old, my loose skin flapping in the wind, flipping you off as I pass by.

14 thoughts on “Busy Blog-Hopping, Thank You!

  1. This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but a big part of my excitement about my 33rd birthday ties to the fact that I’m going to be posting the thank-you email I sent my friends on my 30th birthday. Three years later, that letter still tickles me–though it’s not all humor!

    Talking about how I was excited for 30:
    I’ve looked forward to this birthday for years. Striving for Gandalf-like wisdom and awesomeness, I have dismayed in my youngness and lack of gray hairs.

    I think about my mom wasting away at 52 and I’ve gotta say, my feelings about aging have grown even more positive since I wrote that birthday letter. I know I’ll look at myself in the mirror and wonder where the hell time went, assuming I’m blessed enough to grow old, but I will happily take that to the alternative. My son is only two but I already want to meet my grandkids, dammit!

    You are beautiful to me, old, young, grumpy, happy, what have you. It’s all part of something wonderful. And eventually destined to take a vacation in Los Angeles. ♥

    1. Oh Deb, it’s those of you that bother to take the time to peer inside this nasty old, bitch I’ve become and seek out what little worth remains, that reminds me I still have value. If you mean something, anything, to at least one person–and that includes yourself–you shouldn’t be able to doubt you have a purpose. I’m not sure what mine is, but I’m almost positive that it has something to do with my blog and many of you. Something led me here, keeps me here, and drew all of us together to design this beautiful web we have now. I always say, if one of my posts, one of your posts, one of his/her posts makes a difference in one persons life, than it has not been wasted time. And I do think at least one of us on any given day has words that another ‘needs’ to hear.

  2. I can give you a couple (only a couple) of years. And frequently I feel ancient. But what the hell, it is a heap better than the alternative.
    And, if you are blog hopping – where is my comment, hmmm? That walk up the hill to take photos was hard work – and I am off to have the x-rays in a little while.

    1. You’re too funny, Sue. 🙂 As a matter of fact you must’ve left this comment while I was over on your blog leaving one for you. So there! Ha..ha.. And those pics were really beautiful. I’ve never seen so many breathtaking flowers! It did look like a lot of hard work.
      I hope you’re feeling better, and your boo-boo’s are healing. If the Old Man doesn’t hog the pc tonight I’ll probably be dropping you an email. Watch for me. 😉

      1. Yes, our paths crossed and I left you an apology. Consider it said again. It is an amazing place. Off to have a x ray in a little to see if I have chipped the bones in my leg. Cross your fingers. Looking forward to the email – whenever it comes.

        1. I figured that’s what happened. Ha..ha.. Although I have to admit that I made a big dent yesterday in reading emails, but didn’t get around to everyone yet. No, I’m not kidding! Reading blogs is hard work! I do try to keep up as much as I can though, because so much of what is going on in your lives spill onto the pages, and in order to keep updated on my blogger buddies I must read. I can’t hit daily anymore though. There are far too many people for me to read and comment on every day. I just don’t have the time, and haven’t a clue how many do. What, are they like SERIOUS multi-taskers or something?

  3. When my daughter was in one of her bitchy moments, she said I don’t owe you respect because you’re old. You have to earn my respect. I should have said you owe me respect because I’m your mother. Plus I am older and wiser than you.

    1. I’ve heard the same thing from my mouthy seventeen year old son, and he almost ate the shoes he was wearing. You’re completely right. She owes you respect because you are her mother. As I tell my children, “I didn’t carry you, go through labor, breastfeed you for months, and worry sick over you for years to have you talk to me like shit!” I don’t care how old your daughter is, she needs to be thrown over someones lap and have her ass paddled. Either that, or a swift kick in it. I wish you could talk to my 24 year old daughter and ask her how I handled things when she was growing up. She’d tell ya not lightly. Get fierce with her, mom! You deserve respect!

  4. Funny, just last week I pondered a blog on a similar subject, with perhaps a slightly different slant. I volunteer at a senior center and am amazed to find how many of these folks don’t feel (mentally and emotionally, not physically!) much different than in their twenties. Having just turned 59, I sure as hell don’t. Why then do so many of them turn cantankerous? I’m starting to believe that when the 16-year-old still trapped inside you encounters the droopy eyed, turkey-necked critter staring back in the mirror, it’s such a shock, you get royally pissed off at the world. When my deceased but sassy mom turned 60, she ditched her stilettos and Vogue high fashion and embraced elastic-waist pantsuits and Hush Puppies and got the ‘poodle cut’. She declared, ‘I’m officially old and I don’t have to be uncomfortable anymore.”

    I’ve instructed The Spousal Unit to put me down immediately if any of the above should occur!

    1. Here! Here! I agree. I love my mother, but remember back when she was alive how ‘old’ she was at my age. I never could figure out why, still don’t, but wonder if it’s because that’s what people expected you to be at that age back then. I’m getting old. I don’t embrace it, nor do I deny it. I’m just learning to accept it, cause, well…I have no choice. I am not, however, going to let people make me feel bad though when I say I’m getting old and bitch about it, and tell me I’m just being ‘negative’. No, I’m being REALISTIC because I’m now ‘wearing’ old. I’m losing volume in my ass, and it’s apparently taken up new residence in my waistline, my boobs are running a vicious race to meet and greet said fat on the middle, and I look like a turkey when I lean forward, so I’m learning to do everything with my head tilted back. I didn’t want old, I wasn’t looking for old, but old found me anyway. I’m just determined since I don’t have a choice I’m going to do old the best way I can. Hell, people like you and me may live forever having this frame of mind. Ha..ha..

  5. Ahhhhh I LOVE this post!!!!! I just had this conversation with my grandmother. She’s in her mid 60’s and still goes hunting and fishing and does all her farm work by herself. She cusses and swears and says what on her mind (wherever she is!). She’s amazing. She’s strong. She’s resilient. She’s…old. And I can’t wait to be like her. It bothers me that everyone is so concerned about “wrinkles”. Trying botox and creams and lotions. I on the otherhand love wrinkles. They tell a story. To me they say, “I have lived.” If my G’ma didn’t have wrinkles, I think she’d look funny. If my dad’s crow’s feet disappeared, I’d be heartbroken. Wrinkles are nature’s way of saying, “Look at me. I’m old. I have LIVED. I will CONTINUE to live. I have laughed. I have loved. I have felt sorrow. I have felt pain. Learn from me.” I love your notion of it’s not “Getting Old” it’s “Acting Old’. Soooo true! It’s like most people once they are “over the hill” start dressing and acting like every other boring “old” person. Itchy wool, those weird orthapedic shoes, conversations about pots and pans. IT’s like they lose their vitality. This is why I want to grow old and be like my G’ma (and as it sounds…like you!) Not giving a damn about anything and giving the world the bird as I live my life the way I want, not the way I’m “supposed” to. Kudos to you for this post and doing exactly what you want.

    1. Oh, I definitely move to the beat of my own drum, and not everyone finds it acceptable. I say “To hell with em! Resist the temptation to follow like sheep!”. You get my drift. Ha.ha. Well, I can’t say that I’m thrilled about getting old. Now that it’s happening I try to ‘wish’ away the lines to no avail. I guess it’s not so much that I enjoy the aging process, but that I refuse to deny it’s happening and am learning to accept it. These people that think they can just ‘positive image’ themselves young again or something… WTF? What damn world do they live in, anyway? Apparently not the one I do. I’m old. Not DAMN OLD yet, but nonetheless old. I don’t like it, but figure since I have no choice but to live with it, I’m going to do ‘old’ my way. I want to be the old broad in the retirement home that the nurses flock around to tell them stories, cause I have a lot of ink on my back, cuss like a trucker, and can spin an interesting tale, an amuse them. 🙂

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