This getting old is getting old. Some other loose observations as I age ungracefully:
- Earlier this month, former teen star Miley Cyrus made the news for cutting her long hair into a choppy pixie cut. I was so jealous. I really wish I had the face to pull off a short haircut. But even if I did, if I got that haircut at my age, it wouldn't be a cute pixie cut--on me, it would be declared soccer mom hair. That is so ugh and unfair, right?
- Though I finally broke 150 this year, I probably won't really aim to lose much more poundage per se, because I already noticed that now when I lose weight, I'm not necessarily losing it where I want (my jowls, chins, saddlebags, calves, belly) but losing it in areas where I like to keep the weight to balance out my proportions (my bosom, rear end, hands). Bottom line--I figured out that even if I were to reach my 20-something weight (which was around 135), I'm not necessarily going to have my 20-something body. Because I don't remember being a pear with a shriveled rack and butt, fat head with 3 chins, and with veiny hands worthy of offering Snow White a poisoned apple in my 20s. Sigh. I guess I can definitively say I don't have that Benjamin Button disease.
- I'm in that zone where I'm more often not perceived as "cool" to my daughter. When I recently started singing along to a song she had put on, she flatly requested, "Mom, please stop. You're ruining it." When she said that, her eyeroll cut harder than the one I gave the dad at the mall who was doing his back-to-school shopping with his kids wearing a "Senor Frog's Drinking Team" t-shirt. Wow, is that irony, payback, or karma?
- The other day four different people told my daughter that she looked "just like her mother". Her expression was somewhere between mild horror and the polite disappointment of a kid excited she was getting a present and it turned out to be tube socks. Don't worry, I assured her that she is much lovelier than me as evidenced by this proof:
|Exhibit A: 7th Grade pix of me & the girl|
- I'm starting to lose a sense of decorum. The last two times a cashier cheerfully picked up the bag of chocolate chips I was buying and excitedly asked, "Oooooo, what are you going to do with these?" Both times I answered honestly that I would most likely (like the previous purchase) be eating them straight out of the bag, by first sprinkling them on a butter knife that I had dipped into a jar of peanut butter.
- I can't remember the last movie I saw in the movie theater where I didn't fall asleep in the middle of it at some point.
- Though I haven't reached Grandpa Simpson status of writing to the "sickos at Modern Bride magazine" for not publishing people with wrinkles in their pages, I could not help from responding to this crazy rant in the local Free Times:
With one of my own:
In hindsight I wish I had the mature tone of the response below mine.
Yeesh, did I say I was getting old? Maybe I'm already there.