Which is why I claim to be 52.

I am 35, and I'm fine being 35. I'm fine looking 35 if I do. I don't want to look 45, but I have no issue with looking 35. But I am supposed to want to look 21. Why is that? Why do I see ads all the time telling me a 54 year old grandmother looks 32 and so can I if I pay for her secret? Why is it that we can't look good for our age; we have to look good for our kids' age?  It's setting us up for endless disappointment and struggle. Why do we, as women, fall into the trap? It's preposterous!

I'm not rich, so time passes for me

I think if I had enough money, I might try to stop aging. If I could afford botox and face lifts and eyelid surgeires, I might do it. It would be a battle I could fight. But I'm not a Kardashian, or a Real Housewife of some rich people city, so I don't.  I just hope my hair grows out soon. These orange tips are embarrassing!

And "squish" is not a good place to go!

I think my warranty is up. I have sore joints, back pain, migraines, anxiety attacks at the same time every day (12:30 pm and 10:30 pm), I have floaters in both eyes, and the other day when I looked down at the back of my hand, I swear it was my grandmother's.  And then I realize that I am only 35, and if I'm lucky I'm not even halfway through my life yet.  If I'm already starting to crap out now, I'll be a Halloween decoration by the time my grandkids meet me.

You know what's really sad? When you're wearing one of your best-fitting bras and your husband tries to cop a feel and says, "Ooh, no bra?"  Apparently, everything's just gone to squish that badly.   :(

What am I becoming?!

I want to make quilts.  I'd love to crochet if Tommy would leave my projects alone and not unravel them.  I see a shirt with ruffles and think, "That's cute."  I look at soda and see thick goopy corn syrup.  I shop for bras and look for coverage and support, not sex appeal and fashion.   I read about politics and the economy, not celebrity gossip.  I think dark lipstick looks tacky.  I think hickeys look trashy ('cause they do).  I watch PBS and documentaries. I wear sweaters if the temp gets below 60`.  I regret my tattoos.  If given a thousand dollars, I'd probably go shopping for household goods like sheets and towels, or maybe a new handbag. 

I fear what the future holds.  I think I'm becoming an elderly Jewish woman, at least from what I've seen on the TV.  You want I should bring you a jacket?

What fuddy duddy?

I had a friend tell me the other day that she was making it her mission to young me up, whatever that means. She said I act too old, and she's going to fix that.  "But I like being old," I told her. "Oh, you can keep being mature and adult. We'll just get rid of the fuddy duddy part."  Wait, what?
What fuddy duddy part? My cardigan sweater with the tissues in the pocket?  My gray hair*?  My cups of hot chamomile tea and 10:00 bedtime?  Maybe there's more, some horrifically geriatric aspect of my personality that I'm not aware of. But if not then I have to ask, why are we getting rid of my fuddy duddy part? I like my fuddy duddy part.  And I appreciate the thought, but I don't want my twenties back. I don't like loud clubs with flashing lights, I don't like late nights, and I don't like uncomfortable and attractive clothing.  I cringe every time I hear some fashion industry person complain about sweatpants and how Americans are getting slovenly picking comfort over looks.  Why not pick comfort? Why MUST fashion be uncomfortable? 
I suppose I'm supposed to dread aging, and fear being old, but I don't.  For one thing, If I'm destined to die at 80 I still have another 45 years left, even if I act 80 now.  Being a fuddy duddy doesn't bring me any closer to death than acting 20 would.  But also, every time I go to a funeral for someone who died in his teens, or twenties, or even thirties, I think about how sad it is that they didn't get to be old. Old is a prize, a goal, something you should want to achieve.  Quite literally, it beats the alternative.



* I was asked recently why I mention my hair so much and I realized that I'm embarrassed by it. Not by the gray, but by the fact that it's half red, half gray. I can't wait for it to grow out long enough to cut off the dye and be done with it, but until then I'm embarrassed by my tri-color head.

I pee pure vitamin D now

So, my old lady calcium supplements (I went with vaguely caramel flavored chews rather than suppository sized pills) have 50% of my daily value of calcium, and 125% of my daily value of vitamin D, and instructions to take twice a day. So my question is, why do I need 250% of my daily value of vitamin D, or is it really impossible to make vaguely caramel flavored chews with any less vitamin D than these? I could be a photophobic albino and these pills would keep me swimming in vitamin D.

aging

I bought a pair of reading glasses yesterday, to help me with small print. I'm old. I also bought calcium supplements, to try and stop my shoulders from sloping any further.

I used to be young, but I'm too old to remember it any more

I am 34 years old. I am not old, or elderly, or geriatric, but I am aging. In a year, if I were to get pregnant, I would be classified as being "of advanced maternal age", which means there would be an increased risk of birth defects due to old eggs. My hair is turning silver (and it looks so good, I figure I'm about a year away from cutting the colored length off), I find myself holding papers away to read them, and my shoulders are sloping to the point where my bra strap keeps slipping off and I'm shopping around for tiny calcium supplements. And that little line between my eyebrows that comes from furrowing my brow at stupid people is now about as deep as a bullet hole.

When I was young I was so stupid. Seriously, I can look back on just about any moment of my life and feel embarrassed for myself. But I was young, and thin, and carefree. I wish I'd realized it. I wish I'd worn bikinis, and taken compliments better. I wish I'd enjoyed it before it was gone. Self-esteem should exist in the present tense and not just in hind sight.

Gray Hair

There are actually people who think that by virtue of not going gray, that this woman:










looks younger than or better than this woman:









I understand that these are just opinions. I simply cannot understand why so many people insist that gray hair is so horrible, or that any woman who has gray hair and wears it rather than covers it is "letting herself go". In my ever so humble opinion, once you reach a certain age (an age neither I nor Jamie Lee Curtis has yet reached), coloring your hair looks a little ridiculous. It ceases to fool anyone. I really don't fault anyone for covering their grays in their 20s, 30s, 40s, or even their 50s or early 60s. But once they eyebrows start to gray it becomes readily apparent that the hair color is no longer real. And if a woman in her 20s, 30s, 40s, or even her 50s or early 60s chooses not to color the gray, people should be more accepting and less snarky than they currently seem to be.

edit: I don't object to anyone dying their hair any color. Brown, blond, red, black, green, purple, blue, etc. I just resist the idea that everyone should dye their hair. And the difference between a 70+ year old lady dying her hair bright red and a 22 year old kid dying his hair blue is that the old lady expects people to believe, or at least pretend to believe, that the red is her natural hair color. When the kid dyes his hair blue he is attempting to deceive no one; his color is artificial and he doesn't pretend otherwise. When a 35 year old woman dyes her hair red, the deception is believable. When a 70+ year old woman dyes her hair she is not only attempting to deceive people but anyone who doesn't pretend to believe the deception is rude if they admit it. We are forced to either become complicit in the lie or to be rude about it. I don't dislike the hair color or the choice to aquire the hair color. I dislike the presumption that I will accept the hair color as natural. For the record, I also dislike the presumption that teeth are naturally flourescent white, that midwestern women in February are naturally 3 shades darker than the rest of their families, and that my local TV news anchor's forehead just happens to be wrinkle free and immobile. Hey, I have changed my appearance plenty. I even dyed my hair for years. But I never asked people, even by implication, to believe the unbelievable. I never claimed my tattoos were birthmarks. And even if the woman whose picture I swiped off google never pretends her hair color is natural, the implication is there nonetheless. Her hair isn't gray because she doesn't want to look old, and she is supposed to look younger somehow because she has a hair color not naturally found on old people. She isn't, like a 30 or 40 year old woman, trying to avoid looking prematurely old. She is trying to keep from looking her actual age. And that is the lie.

Here's a secret, everyone at soccer practice already knows you're a soccer mom

If you have 3 kids and need a bigger vehicle, a minivan makes sense. If you need to be able to buckle 2 kids into car seats, store a backpack or two plus extra diapers and snacks for on the go, and still have space for groceries, a minivan sounds just about perfect. If you're an adult who needs an adult car, doesn't drive in dangerous or off-road conditions, and wants to save money on fuel, you should look into getting a minivan.

So why do these people always buy SUVs instead?! Here's an interesting little known fact; a minivan will not actually castrate a man. It also won't age you, or give you back pain, or impregnate you with more children than you currently have. It's just a vehicle, and a pretty practical one at that. It's not just for den mothers or soccer moms, but even if it were that's a pretty sizable demographic anyway, and also happens to be the same target audience that resists it so much. And driving your kids to soccer practice in a Trailblazer because you're too cool or sporty or whatever to drive a minivan makes you look ridiculous. Everyone at soccer practice already knows you're a soccer mom. And what's more, they're insulted that you think it's something to be ashamed of since they are also soccer moms. Embrace it, because to do otherwise is idiotic.

Yes, that's right. The denial looks worse than the truth. You end up looking like this guy, who is similarly ashamed to admit he is bald.

Someone tell me the word for this.

You know what's on my mind? Premises which eliminate any answer but one. I'm sure there's a word for that (and if there is, I want to know it so tell me in the comments section) but I don't know it so now I'll go on ad nauseum with examples.

Why is it that women seem to get either no plastic surgery/botox/liposuction at all, or all of it until they look horrible? You never seem to see the actress who gets one procedure when she's 40 and then looks well rested and fresh, and then quits while she's ahead. They all end up looking like Joan Rivers! I know why; because they're people who got that one procedure when they were 40. Women are made to stand close to the mirror. We see the one blackhead in an otherwise perfect complexion, the wrinkle forming between the eyebrows, and we fixate on it. It's probably because we had to zero in on the bad spot in the food before our family ate it or something, back in the caveman days, but now it just makes hot chicks think they're fat and ugly. And if a woman is the sort to see plastic surgery as an option, she will use it for everything. And then you end up with a plastic woman who doesn't look 30 years younger and just looks fake. But the skin that did sag now doesn't, and the blotch that was there isn't, and each piece that had to be fixed is, and she never steps far enough back from the mirror to see the big ugly picture. But the women who accept crows' feet and eyelid droop as okay don't go for the botox in the first place. The type who would quit while they were ahead never started in the first place.

Why do studies always show that second marriages have higher divorce rates than first marriages? Because the very question eliminates from the mix the sorts of people who don't divorce. Sure, some of the second marriages could be widows and widowers, but it's generally divorcees. And divorcees have seen that they can survive a divorce and go on to find love again. And just like everything else, it becomes easier each time. The world didn't end when my first marriage failed so it won't end when my second one does either. The people who refuse to file for divorce are less likely to find themselves in second marriages so they don't make the second marriage statistics.

Mid-Life Crisis

Okay, so as you all know, I turn 30 soon. Too soon. I believe I am having an early midlife crisis. Or perhaps, I will die at 60 and this IS my midlife. Anyway, I have decided to hate Teri Hatcher.

Don't pretend you don't know why. We all hate her. I am 30-ish and she is 40-something and she looks a hell of a lot better than me. A while ago it was Susan Sarandon, but now the milf posterchild is Teri, so I hate her. But still, I want to BE her. So, still in touch enough with reality to realize I will never look 25 at 45, I have devised a plan.

I will start lying about my age. Not by staying 29 until menopause; that's been overdone. No, I will claim to be turning 50 this year. Yes, FIFTY YEARS OLD. That way, I will get to be amazingly young looking. I may never be a milf, but I can be a grandmilf. AND my 38 year old husband will instantly become my trophy mate. I considered claiming 40, but what if I told someone I was 40 and they believed me too easily? Then, I would have a much worse midlife crisis to work through. As it is, I am merely lying about my age and slathering on wrinkle cream like I was sealing the driveway. It's a perfect plan. Since we plan to move in the next year or so, I will have thousands of unsuspecting people to lie about my age to. I will graciously accept their compliments and smile at their astounded disbelief. Of course, if someone believes 50 too easily, I may have to lie down in traffic.