Well, yeah, that got your attention.
I’m really not going to talk about hemorrhoids. I will tell you that I no longer wear thongs because I am not thirty anymore and therefore my ass is not thirty anymore. Of course I am actually thinner than I was at thirty, but my ass, well, it’s just not thirty anymore. Let’s just leave it at that. I hate those women who think they can still dress like PYT’s when in fact they might still be P but they are PMAT’s (see previous blog).
The other day I was in Trader Joe’s, which let’s face it, is about the best grocery store in the whole wide world. I mean come on, gluten free pasta, chocolate covered pomegranate seeds and non-crappy wine for under ten bucks? Just sayin…
Anyway, so there I was, checking out the pink lady apples when who should walk in but the original pink lady, Angeline. Seriously, Pink corvette parked outside and everything. The woman still had great legs, I will give her that. And trust me, you could see them. All of them. The mini skirt was very, um…mini. It wasn’t a micro-mini, it was a gyno-mini. She was in pink from head to stiletto toes and had so much plastic surgery, I don’t think she could close her mouth all of the way. Dressed like she did in the 80’s which is good, because I think she is pushing that age right about now. I am not being mean. Okay, maybe a little, but come on. The woman was forty in the 80’s so, like, um…oh, come on, don’t make me do math…
I like to wear miniskirts but they aren’t as mini as they used to be. No matter how many thigh crunches I do, there will always be a layer of squish. Actually, no matter how many sit-ups or push-ups I do, there will always be a layer of squish. Really good core, just covered in what I like to call “two-people-lived-in-here-smushy-ness”. Apparently, if you give up sugar, the smush goes away, but let’s face it, there are just some vices I refuse to give up. I work in a high school where students know my propensity for Starbursts and Sour Patch kids. I hate them. The students who bring me sugar not the sugar itself. If I didn’t work at a high school…oh never mind. The last time I was pre-menstrual I ate chocolate frosting for dinner when my kids weren’t home. Oh, like you never did that. I know for a fact that at least three people reading this blog have totally eaten frosting by itself, no cupcake underneath, just with a spoon.
There are some great parts to getting older. The myth of the sexual peak, the idea that in a few years I will qualify for a senior discount at the movies and the mere fact that I am wiser is a good thing. Plus the idea that I have a myriad of useless trivia rolling around in my head is always good. I can tell you that The Clash’s album London Calling was voted the best album of the 1980’s by Rolling Stone magazine, that Louisiana is the Pelican State and that white out was invented by Mike Nesmith’s mom. I always thought he was so much hotter than Davy Jones.
Of course, I can never remember my list of what I need to buy at Target or where I parked in the Whole Foods parking lot, but hey, being able to quote from I Love Lucy is quite important too.
Yes, I know being wiser doesn’t necessarily mean one is smarter. Men, boys, guys, prospective dates are still a mystery to me and I still seem to make stupid decisions based on emotions and desire. When my female students come to me for advice I can tell them to learn from their mistakes. I hear myself telling them to listen to the questions they ask themselves. Maybe I should listen to my own advice. Hmmm...maybe...
My favorite thing my mom ever told me was if you had to ask yourself a question more than once, then probably the answer should just be no. I’m not talking about algebra or if you shouldn't wear white after Labor Day. I am talking about matters of the heart and well, lower.
Then of course, I have two boys to raise to be men. Oy. Seriously, oy. Motherhood sucks when you realize that someday the cute little boy in the Batman pajamas who is still carrying around his blanket named gee-gee will be having sex some day. Crap, that scares the bajeezus out of me. I have to teach them not only to be smart and funny but chivalrous and respectful while being romantic and cool all at the same time. Arduous task for mothers of sons. I’m just glad I don’t have daughters. I always wanted girls but wouldn’t trade my two boys in for all of the Manolo Blahniks in Nordstrom.
So, let’s see, what do I think I need after writing this blog? (key word being think I need) Hmmm...new underwear, a guide to raising the perfect man, a guide to dating, to play Trivial Pursuit again, a session with my cute, bald trainer to tighten my abs, less sugar and more therapy. Probably should throw in a colonoscopy for good measure.
Seriously.
Oh, by the way, buy my book.
No comments:
Post a Comment