May 052020
 

Before Plague

Guess who’s back? And I’m even older and more busted than ever. LOL How’s quarantine treating you? Scary stuff, huh? Speaking of scary, have you met the real you yet? I mean, of course, uncut hair, undone nails, no facials and whatever other treats you do for yourself on a daily basis. There is nothing wrong with this, nothing AT ALL, but. . . a lot of us have had to face the mirror and see a stranger. Actually, a lot of us is ME. I’m “a lot of us.” Looking at your quarantine self is one thing. Loving your quarantine self is another thing entirely.

First Look

The first time I looked at the flat gray hair, the wrinkles (oh, the wrinkles!!!), the droopy eyes and the rest of it, well, I ran for the makeup drawer and threw on a metric ton. That was okay for a while. But one day it was, like, “Why bother? You’re not going anywhere. Your husband, daughter and grandson (fellow quarantiners in this house) have seen you in worse shape. Just be you. You’re old. Get used to it.” Easy to say. Not so easy to do.

The Yucky Mirror

The first few days. . . I’m lying. . . weeks were tough. Who was that old lady looking back at me in that mirror? I mean, yeah, my hair has started to gray but this old broad was doggone near totally gray with wrinkles all over the place, discolored skin and. . . hey, did you get the number of that crow that stomped all over my eyes? Being perfectly serious for a moment, I was really shocked. Was I that good at using makeup to hide all this stuff? Did Mother Nature hate me all THAT much? Apparently, the answer to both those questions was yes.

Plague Me

The Selfies From Hell

After I got used to looking in the mirror and when I could stop crying, I started taking a few selfies here and there. Think you look bad in that dastardly mirror? Wait until you see what your damn phone does to you!!! At first, I erased them all. I wasn’t having it. There was no way on this earth that I could look THAT bad. Or could I?

Acceptance Comes Slowly

As the days dragged on by and the selfies piled up, albeit slowly, I started getting used to what I saw in the mirror AND in the camera. I didn’t like it. Was I going to go back to the old me and just keep using the makeup for no good reason except to delude myself? I wasn’t sure. I put some on here and there. And then it went to just a lot of moisturizer. And then it went to. . . me. The real me. The me that is now. The 67-year-old me with wrinkles and crepey eyes, turkey neck and a myriad of other unflattering accouterments. And then it didn’t hurt so bad. And then it didn’t hurt at all. And then? Well, hell, it’s me. I earned every single one of those wrinkles. I earned every one of those damn gray hairs. I earned every sagging part of me. And you know what? It’s just. . . me.

And Now?

Well, I’m back to learning to love myself, which is where I was when this plague took over the world. Would I like it better if I looked like I thought I did with the war paint on my face? Yeah, I would, but guess what? That’s not really me. Me is the old lady looking back at me with all the imperfections, yeah, the ones I’ve earned over a long and pretty decent life.

The Future

And when all of this is a memory, will I start with the makeup again? Will I try to alter the me I’ve become and learned to love? I want to say, “Hey, this is me and this is what you’re getting from this point forward.” I want to say that. If I do, will I mean it? I’m honestly not sure. I mean, yeah, I always want to look my best, but if this IS my best, well, I guess I’ll have to accept that. But if part of loving your quarantine self also includes a little powder and lipstick, count me in!

The Crow

The Beautiful Crow That Stepped On My Eyes

Aug 312017
 

OBH on Easter 2017Aging. It’s a taboo subject in the good ‘ole US of A. Youth is worshiped; old age is dreaded. It hit me a little later than some. I was carded until I was almost 40. Now they chase me with a senior discount. LOL

My 50s were my best decade. When I turned, 60, though, that bitch of an old age fairy let me have it but good! Everything started to sag, bag and droop. . . or so it seemed. If you haven’t experienced this yet, it’s coming to a theater near you. Here’s a bit of a humorous look on how to know you’re getting old.

Turkey wattles and other loosey goosey stuff. . .

This is probably the first thing I noticed. Everything got looser, for lack of a better word. Me and the Thanksgiving turkey have a lot in common these days, especially around the neck area. And it seems that no matter how many times I go to the gym, there are way too many dangly bits hanging about. For more on this phenomenon, check out If You’re Old and You Know It Flap Your Arms.

The pup ain’t the only one who needs pee pads. . .

And speaking of things getting loosey goosey. . . my friends used to call me a camel because I could hold it all day long.  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 🙂 At the mildest urging I start looking for facilities. I know where all the public bathrooms are in town and the exact distance between them. Tena pads are great. But wait. . . there’s more in the loosey goosey department!

Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro. . .

I think it was Maya Angelou who said that her breasts were having a race to see which one would get to her waist first. Well, I think mine have achieved that goal and are now eying my knees as their next challenge! I am not particularly large (C cup) but. . . it’s getting very uncomfortable without a bra on these days. And that side boob action. . . I could kill small children with a single blow if I swing around too fast!

By the hair on my chinny chin chin. . .

There is an old joke that says an older woman’s hair thins as she ages so she can pay more attention to the hair on her face, or words to that effect. True Dat! The hair on my body all fell out about 10 years ago and what there was of it was blonde and red. It’s nice that I no longer have to shave the legs and pits, but the hair on my face is getting worse. AND to add insult to injury, that hair is black. I have tweezers and razors all over the house.

Slowly I turn. . .

Well, slowly I do everything these days, or so it seems. I was a real dynamo way back when. I spoke fast. I moved fast. I thought fast. Today it’s like. . . . well, it’s not fast. Oh, I try to move fast, but. . . fast and me no longer have a relationship. Both my body and brain go into giggle fits when I give it a go. I forget what I’m going to the kitchen for before I get there. It takes me twice as long to do things. And I trip over my own tongue trying to get thoughts out in the right order and with the correct verbiage. The little girl who still resides inside of me puts her hands on her hips with a bratty, “I DON’T WANNA SLOW DOWN!!!” Sadly, I have no choice. . . or else.

These are just some of the joys of the golden years. There are a lot more, but you know what? Living to a ripe old age means you’ve done just that, LIVED. Years ago, I saw a tag line on someone’s email that I’ve seen many times since. It has always stuck with me. It said, “Never regret getting old. Many are denied the privilege.”

And as that wise saying implies, it sure as hell beats the alternative. I’ve learned to just have a good giggle over all of the above, take a deep breath, roll up my boobs and stuff ‘em in my bra.

 

May 262017
 

Most of my readers on this blog are well over the age of consent or, as I like to think about it, aged to perfection! However, our warped society calls us old. So, yes, I’ll accept that. I’m not sure I’d have it any other way. I will display my wrinkles and flap my arms proudly. I’ve earned it all.

Dreaming

Wouldn’t I like to be young, svelte and HOT once more? I guess somewhere in a dream state. Yeah, I was young, but I was never svelte or what was considered hot. I was me. I was a nerd. I was dependable and loyal but definitely not the object of any young man’s dreams. (Well, maybe one and I married him. LOL)

 The Brutal Attack of the Old Age Fairy

I was one of those disgusting folks who was carded in a liquor store until I was 35. I had what the relatives lovingly called a “baby face.” And I held that well into my 50s. Nobody ever guessed my age correctly, including doctors.

But when I turned 60, the Old Age Fairy attacked and waged a shock and awe campaign on this gal. 🙁 To this day, I don’t know what I did to piss her off so badly, but she hit me and hit me hard. I went from nobody believing my senior discount cards were mine to being chased by clerks trying to hit me over the head with the discount.

How old I am joke

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Sign

The day after my 60th birthday I discovered jowls and a turkey neck. Wrinkles appeared where there were none before. And although almost every hair on my body fell out, my chin decided to make up for it. You know that song about, “Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro”. . . . well, you could substitute the word breasts for ears. And then there are those arms. I never knew I was related to Rocky the Flying Squirrel!

Who Ya Gonna Call?

The hard answer is there ain’t nobody to call. You learn to adjust. You learn to live with it. We can’t do much about getting old unless you can afford plastic surgery and that is still a temporary fix. You have to start taking a bit better care of yourself. If you don’t moisturize now, you’re gonna turn into an alligator.

Reality

The reality is that I’ve been blessed with a long life. It hasn’t always been good, but it hasn’t always been bad either. It’s been. . . life. Ups, downs, all-arounds. And so now I’m coasting on the down side. It’s okay.

So What Does One Do?

Enjoy it. What other choice do you really have? Age brings some wisdom. Not much, but some. Consider yourself lucky to have lived this long. Wake up every morning and be thankful. Enjoy your day. Not always easy, I know, but. . .

Now It’s Your Turn

When did you notice you had gotten old? What happened? What parts of you are old? LOL If you would like to share, please leave a comment. I promise not to giggle.

See ya next time!