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The Truth About Getting Older

28 Apr

Let’s take a moment to talk some truths on what it’s really like to get older.  Not talking here about how wrinkles suddenly begin appearing on your forehead, or your neck.  The neck wrinkles are what really throw me.  I have a girlfriend who is six years younger than I am but she’s got the neck of a 70 year-old.  How does that happen?  At 39, I’m proud to have the neck of a 32 year old.  But do dudes really notice that?  Don’t think I’ve ever heard a dude say, “She was hot, but her neck wrinkles were a total turnoff.”

But I digress.

Let’s talk about the important stuff: how fucking terrible hangovers are when you’re older.

It’s cute when I hear my young friends say shit about how they were hungover.  How they had a tinge of a headache, took an hour nap, and then felt so much better.  I remember those days – about 20 years ago.  A hangover in college was nothing – it literally felt like I was about to get a bit of a headache.  All it took was a glass of water, a 15 minute nap, and I was golden.  Fast forward two decades and it almost feels like I need to call 911, have a full blood transfusion, a new liver, and a lobotomy to feel better.  Fucking worst.

The really stupid part is that they’re so easily avoidable, I mean, how hard is it to just say no to that one last drink?  That delicious drink that is heaven in a glass?  My limit is four – I know it is – and yet there are times when I think to myself that as long as I drink another glass of water that I’ll be fine.  Then 3 hours later I’m laying in my bed having a panic attack because I know the hangover is going to get me.  A legitimate panic attack – not awesome.

For those of you who are still young, here are all the awesome things you have to look forward to:

  • Headaches: headaches that feel like your brain will explode out of your forehead causing your eyes to pop out, and then your brain to ooze out of your eye sockets.
  • Dry mouth: the Mojave dessert will reside in your mouth.  No amount of lip smacking, tongue tapping, or water will be able to quench the dryness that settles in your mouth.  You could take a match and strike it on the roof of your mouth.
  • Queasiness and vomiting: you will want to vomit the world.  Your stomach will rumble, and you probably won’t be able to hold down the water that would actually help you get rid of the hangover.  There will even come a moment in the middle of the night where you might think, “I should probably just make myself get sick and I’ll feel better.”  Then while you’re vomiting last night’s half digested pepperoni pizza you come to the realization that no, vomiting is going to make you feel better.  Only God striking you dead on the bathroom floor will make you feel better.
  • [And now the part that no one ever wants to talk about] Stomach cramps and the big D: get ready for (I’m struggling to actually write the word because I hate talking about it so much that I’m just procrastinating and trying to avoid it but I feel like I need to tell you how it really is so I’m talking myself into it and trying to avoid it all at the same time so I just am trying to figure out how to just write it and it’s making me nervous and grossed out at the same time but here we go so get ready…) explosive diarrhea.  It’s going to happen.  You, my friend, are going to get to a moment when you say to yourself, “I am rotting from the inside.”  It’s going to happen, and you might cry while it happens because it’s so incredibly disgusting, and you should cry.  Because you did that to yourself.  You did that – you made your body do that and it’s your fault.

Typical recovery time can be anywhere from 24 to 48 hours.  No joke.  And I’ll tell you what?  They morning you wake up after having fought off the hangover is like being totally reborn.  You could conquer the world you feel so fucking amazing.  And three days later when you’re at Happy Hour and you’re still apprehensive about whether or not you should have one more drink, I hope you remember when you were sobbing on the toilet because your insides were coming out your backside.

And that, young friends, is what you have to look forward to.

The cost of adulthood

27 Feb

As a college student getting drunk was a breeze.  All it took was a combination of hard liquor and watered down shitty beer, or watered down shitty alcohol.  My fave combos consisted of:

  • 1 mind eraser, and a pitcher of Coors Light
  • 1 shot of Goldschlager, and 4 Long Island Iced Teas

Total cost?  Approximately $10-15 per drunken night.  Hangovers?  Nope, none at all.  Ah, the good old days when my body could handle the booze.  I’d wake up the next day and was perfectly fine.

The cost of a drunken stupor now is far more expensive – in more ways than one.  You couldn’t pay me to drink Coors Light now, and a mind eraser with a Long Island Iced Tea would probably be enough to cause a blackout.  Instead I find myself enjoying fancy cocktails that look like art in a glass and cost $10-15 per drink.  My max is usually around 4, BUT a few weekends ago my bill came out to $156.  I have no fucking clue how that happened – that’s what happens when you blackout, you don’t remember shit.

Last night my friend from college came into town.  On his way to meet me for dinner he alluded to a night of drunken debauchery for which we would both pay in the morning.  Fearing the hangover at an 8:30 meeting I was smart enough to pace myself and enjoyed only four glasses of wine with plenty of water.  He enjoyed his vodka tonic, five glasses of red wine, and beer.

At about 11 this morning he sent me a text saying that he was so hungover he thought he had died and was suffering in hell.

I love when other people are hungover and I’m not.

When old dudes sweat

18 Feb

Friday night I went to see a show of a band that was celebrating their 20 year anniversary.  I was 19 when they had their ONE hit that was played on the radio.  It was a good song, apparently good enough to get them a following that is still interested in following them around 20 years later.  I mean, it was a good song, but it wasn’t THAT good.  Catchy?  Sure, but certainly not as big of a one hit wonder as Chumba Wumba’s Tub Thumbing.

So there I was, totally out of place, with my over sized Badgley Mischka purse that everyone kept bumping into, and my Burberry scarf.  Maybe I don’t belong in concerts with standing room only.  I want a table where a waiter is going to come over, take my order, and bring me a GD glass of champagne or an overpriced cocktail.  Not Bam Margera’s bar where I have to elbow my way through a crowd, push my way up to the bar, yell at the top of my lungs to get a drink, and then get served a shitty vodka tonic in what can only be described as a shitty dixie cup.

The opening act was incredible.  Sure, he was dreamy and cute and about 20-nothing (so you know that’s right up my alley), but the kid had some amazing talent.  As soon as he left the stage I was pretty much ready to go.  But my friend who I had gone with, the one who had “dated” the lead singer of the band insisted we stay.  Fine.  Whatever.  I had scored a chair at the front of the venue, and the only thing obstructing my view was the sad 50+ year old woman who hippie danced her way through the show.

As I was watching the crowd and the band I thought to myself how these guys, in their prime, may have been handsome.  I imagined the groupies getting all excited when the bass player sweat all over the place.  The throngs of women who wanted to be invited back to the bus to see if they could get a lick of that bass player’s sweaty sack (I just grossed myself out with that).  Fast forward 20 years and seeing a middle aged man with a little pooch isn’t quite as sexy.  It’s almost sad watching these guys hang on to something that they once had.  I was half surprised that no one started wheezing on stage.

Not that the crowd seemed to mind – everyone seemed to be the same age as the band members.  They had all left their jobs, spouses, kids, responsibilities at home and were capturing their youth for a night.  All except the one drunk whore who rushed the stage and had to be carried off by a bouncer with facial piercings.  Not cute, ma’am, not cute.

I get the allure of wanting to see a band who played the soundtrack to your youth.  Two years ago I went to see Duran Duran with friends and it was awesome!  We were smashed up against the stage and the music sounded great – though seeing John Taylor up close was a bit of a shock.  The face that had once been so handsome was now covered in lines.  You could see his arms once carried muscle tone, but were now saggy.  It was strange seeing these one time idols who were now on the cusp of senior citizenry.

As I drank my vodka tonics on Friday it occurred to me that I’m more than happy to stick with pretending I’m young and cougaring it up with a 20-nothing year old, than to date someone my age.  After all, I can’t look as old as those dudes on stage, right?  At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

Unless we’re talking Bruce Willis.  I’d still climb on him like a ladder.

Online Dating for Toddlers

16 Sep

Ah the joys and pleasures of being single at 37.  What happened to the good old says when one would go out to the bars, meet some cute boy, flirt all night, get hammered, and go home to make some bad decisions?  Then wake up the next morning next to someone you vaguely recognize as you rack your brain trying to remember the dudes name and wondering why you’re asshole is bleeding*.  Man, I miss those days.

Now it’s all online dating and blind dates.  Two things which are equally horrible.  I’ve taken my profile off of most dating websites, but do keep one up on a free website mainly for entertainment purposes.  It’s interesting to see the riff raff I seem to attract – dudes I would never give the time of day to and who don’t bother to read my profile.  Apparently the whole line where I say that I’m only interested in men 34-42 is complete ignored by those under 30 and over 50.

Last night at about 9:30 I got a message from an 18 year old.  An 18 year old.  Again, an 18 year old.  He writes, and I quote, “how u doin beautiful :)” (no punctuation at all).

Seriously, dude?  What part of my profile makes you think I would be remotely interested in an 18 year old.  I take a looky loo at his profile and he talks about his cool digs in his parent’s basement and how he’s looking forward to graduating from High School.

So I decide to respond.

“I’m old enough to be your mother.  Don’t you think it’s way past your bedtime?”

 

 

*Totally for effect, that never happened!  At least not to me.

Dear Friends Who Are Taking Me Out for My Birthday Tonight

19 Nov

Can you please make sure there’s no tequila in sight?  I have things to do tomorrow and I’m too busy to spend the day vomiting and begging for death.  Also, if we get to the point where I start ordering Irish Car Bombs or telling you that I want to make out with the waitstaff, please cut me off.  And please don’t let me flash the valet attendant – again.

Trust me on this one…

Now let’s get out of here so we can celebrate the most wonderful time of year: my birthday!!

The week long celebration starts now…

Happy Birthday to Me!

23 Nov

You know what I love more than anything else in this world (with the possible exception of peen)?  My birthday!  And guess what?  It just happens to be my birthday TODAY!  That’s right!  Yay for me!

I never understood those people who didn’t care for their birthdays and getting older.  Just don’t get it.  I’m one of those annoying people who will give countdowns of shopping days until my birthday and then when the day comes, I’ll inform everyone that it’s my birthday. 

I’ve had friends that got all upset because their friends/family forgot their birthdays.  That will never in a million year happen to me.  If someone claims to have forgotten my birthday, I know they will be lying through their teeth because it’s impossible. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and make some major announcements about my birthdays to my coworkers.

Oh, and I’m 36 by the way.  I’m not like my sister who has been turning 17 for the last 17 years.  The best was on her 30th birthday when I had “17 + 13” written on her cake.  She was not amused.

His Version of “Game” is Equal to “Hungry, Hungry Hippos”

9 Oct

Guess who I talked to last night?? I’ll give you a little hint: he’s probably used to using a phone that more like this than a real phone.

kiddie-phone

That’s right, ladies and germs, I talked to The Child last night. I waited a full 24 hours to return his phone call, mainly because I’m about as immature as he is and feel it’s important to play loads of silly games. And that’s not a reference to “Chutes and Ladders”. Being as immature as I am, I also took the liberty of using Slydial when I called him.

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