EL told me about a site she saw... "Snacks You'll Never Eat Again", except I thought she said Snags... after telling her this, she said, "Mom, people don't eat Snags, they're sentient beings... although I think if one would, they would taste of bourbon and bacon."
The next one?? A lesson she said she learned back in middle school. "No matter how clean cut, rational,
or correct my argument may be doesn’t mean I automatically win. All arguments
can be promptly ended and lost by someone uttering the words, Jesus Christ or God." I was tempted to add, or the Second Amendment.
"I was a double major in college in mathematics and political
science, and I served for six years on the House Budget Committee in my
first six years in the House," Baldwin responded in an interview with
The Huffington Post on Friday.
In a handful of days, I turn 50. It's a fact. Yes, yes, I know, it's better than the alternative, but I have to say, it's fucking with me... not all of the time, but during those moments when my guard is down.
It does not compute. 50 is my parents' age. 50 belongs to my aunts and uncles, or older siblings. I'm the baby of the family, how can I be 50???
Not to mention the fact that I'm still fighting inner wars and dramas from 15, 24, 32, 45... and probably more. Parts of me are caught up. Parts of me relish all I know now... the calm I have about certain areas of my life, but there are still parts of me that are panicking, thinking, WAIT!!! I'M NOT DONE YET!!! To be honest, in some ways, I haven't even started! But, if you're a female in the world, your shelflife is short... unless you move to the crone section. I'm allergic to dust. I don't want to move there.
Don't get me wrong... I don't need to be 25. I'm glad I'm not 25. I'm glad my children are growing and thriving and don't need me as much, OR... need me in newer, more wonderful ways, but still... 50.
I'm glad my creativity is loving that I'm 50. Although I'm no longer on the hip train of things, I see things and get things like never before, but still... 50.
My eyes are not what they were, my hair is not what it was, oh hell... nothing physical is what it was... and yet I feel like I finally understand things or have perspective on things I never have, but the joke is, it's too late. I've heard it a million times... "Oh! If only I knew what I knew now, but when I was younger!"
Don't get me wrong. It doesn't bother me every day. It has not crippled me, but... there is a large part of me that is wondering how it happened... it's so easy to get lost in the minutiae of a day... and then another... and another, and before you know it, you're looking at those days from the other end and it freaks you out... if only for a moment.
I also know that I'll look back on this in 10, or 20 years, and will laugh. HA! You were ONLY 50!
Grizzled and I celebrated our 20th anniversary last week. While cleaning out a closet, I found a video his father had made of part of our rehearsal, our rehearsal dinner and a snippet of the reception. Somehow, we both had missed this. Somehow, it came into our possession and we had no clue! We watched it the other day, for the first time... watching people who are no longer here, people who were so much vibrant and younger. We looked at ourselves. When I looked at my 20 yr-younger self, all I could think of was, "WHAT WAS YOUR PROBLEM!??! YOU WERE FINE! WHY DID YOU LISTEN TO EVERY ASSHOLE WHO HAD A COMPLAINT?" I'm trying to tell myself that now... so I don't look back in 20 years and think, come on... life was good! You're with people you like and love! Doing more or less things you like and love! So what if your boobs are past their perky date! So what if your ass is huge! So what if you have not achieved all you want to achieve! Thank gawd you haven't! You have years to live! Years to thrive! Shut the fuck up and embrace this!
I know this. Deep down I know this...
But man... there are days when I'd like to take this back to 25... or 35... and try it knowing what I do now. I knew it then. I believe I did. I just listened to too many others, like most of us do.
Maybe I'll get myself some celebratory earplugs. :)
Laura's and fish's posts, as well as political discourse, has brought back memories... memories of being a young, single woman in the city... with a very dismal and unreliable paycheck. I believe I was working freelance jobs along with two part-time jobs... but still, paying for medical care was an issue, so I went to one of the Planned Parenthood-inspired places. It was not officially PP, but was basically the same deal. You paid for what you could, and most prices were reasonable.
Even though we were well into the latter half of the 80's, this place was right out of the 70's. Lots of ferns, lots of paneling, lots of Free to Be... You and Me stuff on the walls. I was fine with FTB...YAM, but did not necessarily want it every time I went for a check-up. It got even worse once I had to go a little more often. You see, you could not get your beloved birth control pills if your blood pressure was too high. I am notorious for having low blood pressure, but when in this place, with all of the questions, all of the doubtful looks, mine would shoot sky-high.
"We'll give you a month's worth of birth control pills, but you must come back and prove you're BP is ok!"
Before these visits I would chant... think of dolphins, think of dolphins, think of dolphins...
But when they'd come in to check me out and would ask something that merited a smart-ass answer, with me giving it, and them taking me seriously, my BP would shoot sky high. I knew the drill... take the woman, who may or may not be abused, to a dark room... and let her think of dolphins for 10 minutes. Test again.
Most of the time I could chill, and the Rx was mine.
There was one time though that 3 women came into the room and suggested it was time to get to know my body.
Huh?? I was in my 20's! I knew my body?? What do you mean?? Know my body??
They produced a plastic speculum and a mirror... I kid you not. I scanned the ferns for hidden cameras...
They told me no women truly owns herself until she can examine herself... see the beauty of her cervix. I told them I was fine with a hidden cervix. My cervix was doing what it needed to do and I also trusted the professionals who checked it out...
They took this 'no' as an issue. I was like, "No, you don't get it... I was raised by a very down to earth mother who was nurse and called a spade a spade. Sure, my father might have been a little squeamish about the workings of daughterly parts, but Mom was fully on board with open discussion. I don't have issues... in fact, I'd like to use my parts with the man I love, the man who doesn't beat me, the man who accepts me as I am... while I myself am accepting me as I am... OK?? Take the Pap test and let me be on my way!"
But they insisted... which I felt was incredibly wrong, but hey... I was at peace with my parts, and as I mentioned, wanted to freely use my parts, so I did it. Woo-hoo! Look at my cervix! Woo-hoo! Yay! It looks like... a cervix... Can I go now???
They tried to give me a speculum to take home, but I think I shocked them when I said I preferred the flesh variety. Fortunately, soon after, I got insurance and was able to go to a Dr, who never once suggested I get in touch with my cervix... a Dr who seemed to understand that I was hip to my stuff... but relied on a professional to look up under my chassis.
(Heh... when I go to add a link to type up above, TypePad says, "Insert Link"... See?? These are the kind of thoughts that got me into trouble at the Women's place!)
It's another busy week and I'm not in the mood for blogging (it seems so 1992), but this draft was burning a hole in my post cache:
The other night, in my evening painting class, I had a moment of my real life meeting up with my internet life, which in many areas, has also become my real life...
A semi-retired gentleman who is taking my class mentioned that he had attended a boring lecture the other day. I happened to know that a certain blogger was in the area giving a talk, although I doubted it was boring... still, I had to ask.
Me: "So, was it about blah, blah, blah??"
Him: "No... it was about feral cat colonies, but I did have a colleague who attended the talk you mentioned. How did you know about it??"
Me: "A friend of mine was giving one of the talks."
Him: "Really?? Does he know so and so??"
Me: "I'm not sure, I'll text him."
Me: "Yes, he does. He had dinner with him."
Him: "Wow! Now how do you know this person again?"
Me: "He's a friend."
Him: "I know... you said that, but how do you know him? Where did you meet?"
This is the point I dread in almost any conversation I have where I KNOW someone in REAL LIFE, but then have to explain that I met them online... and somehow, it takes a turn for creepy.
I told the gentleman in my class that this person and I belonged to the same creative blogging group... a group that was set up so people could share writing, art, thoughts, etc, in an area outside of work. I didn't tell him that meeting most of these people was totally random. I made it sound like there was some rhyme or reason to it...
It seemed to appease him. Or he sensed that maybe it was better not to ask anymore. Sensing he sensed this, I told him that my ENTIRE family(including dogs) had socialized with this person and some of his kids. That seemed to make it better.
I then thought of times when I've had to explain something else that's been going on in my life... a project I've been working on with someone... someone I never thought I'd have any interaction with, but am so thankful I do. The few times it has come up in conversation, and this person's name comes up, I get the inevitable question... "How did you meet this person?? What brought you together??"
I then get to decide of I tell the truth, that I met this person as a cupcake, or do I tell them, we met through friends... :) Personally, I like the first answer.