Old

Today's guest poster usually blogs at Jason Loves Jesus   Jason. For the love of God, where she has sometimes been known to make me laugh so hard I nearly die, and at Scrivel. I have been lucky enough to call her my friend both online and in real life for a long-ass time. I have met her family, all except the dog, and I can tell you that they are that funny, they are that inappropriate, and her hair is really that awesome. I love her hinty--and you should, too.


I realized the other day, much to my dismay, that I am old as crap.

Chronologically? I’m 32. Emotionally, spiritually, and (most of all) physically? I’m 109.

So, as evidenced by both my hair and my ass, I never do anything small. Right? So I decide that next year I’m going to walk in this big 2-day event for breast cancer research. I’m going to raise thousands of dollars to help these poor women who can’t afford mammograms. I’m going to walk and be strong and proud and all that crap. I’m going to be awesome.

The problem is? I’M ONE HUNDRED AND NINE.

Also? For a 109 year old? I’m in really bad shape.

But! I am determined! So I start a walking regimen and pretty much within the first fifteen minutes feel like I’m going to keel over and die. Not even the addition of the New Kids on The Block classic “Step by Step” on my trusty iPod makes me feel like anything other than death warmed over and spit upon.

BUT! I am determined! So I march on.

As I am trudging through the woods I am lapped by a number of people. Okay, like twenty. Including a two-hundred-year-old woman wearing a purple headband and an off-the shoulder blouse that reads, “Jazzy!” in glitter.

And her husband, who appears to have been around since George Washington was in office and, despite the fact that he was not wearing any apparel with words on it, seemed pretty spry.

And their dog. Who, they informed me somewhat gleefully, has arthritis.

For the love of God.


But, I’m determined. Or some crap. So I finish my walk and go home.


And the next day when I wake up? My hipbones feel like they are going to come detached from their sockets.

And if you don’t know what that feels like, well. Let me just tell you. Not very good at all.


I don’t know what has happened to me. When I was twenty I took twenty hours of college courses, slept four hours a night, worked a full-time job and a part-time job and still managed to be witty and charming enough to snag a husband. Granted, that husband was sort of a tool, but still. These days my vastly superior husband is lucky if I nod in his general direction once a week because I am so busy/tired/behind on everything. He’s no better really. The other day he asked me if I wanted to go see some fireworks and I said, “I don’t know” and he was all like, “I know. It will really cut into our laying around and doing nothing time.”

But dude. For real. We can’t help it. We’re old.


I find this especially hilarious, because of a hike MB and I took on our honeymoon. We were like, "A mile and a half? CAKE! Bring it!" and sort of ignored the part of the sign that said, "300 feet of elevation change over half a mile." And the fact that we were already about 1000 feet higher in elevation than we usually are.

We had to stop and rest THREE TIMES.

And the second time, a little old Estelle Getty style lady WITH A MOTHERFUCKING CANE breezed by us.

Since we honeymooned pretty near where That Chick lives, she and I suspect we might've been served by the same spry old lady. Bedazzled granny strikes twice in four years! Humiliating.