Life is Weird

Endless Insanity

Archive for the category “aging”

Pickin’ Bits & a Boob Scratch.

Some people think that staying in on a Friday night is a sin. I remember the days when I thought the exact same thing, but times have changed for me. I enjoy coming home Friday after work. I have put in my week at work and can hardly wait to put on my slobby slob-out clothes, grab a bag of chips, a big glass of coke zero and improve my life via Pinterest. It works for me. Plus – I get to spend some quality time with my gorgy Zozo dog and her baby cat Charlie.

babycat

Now – we all know that I spoil the Zoey dog – to say the least. Do I need to remind anyone that I got the kitten for Zo – to keep her company during the day? No. So would it really be a surprise to find out that I spent part of my Friday night Pickin’ Bits for her. You see – I thought I was being quite smart, quite clever when I bought the delish looking dog food from the liquidation world. It had healthy little bits of dried beans and carrots in it. She eats beans and carrots off of my plate – so I thought she would like some in her own food. Wrong. Apparently the Zo has a very refined palate when it comes to her beans and carrots. That’s right – she does not approve of eating either one in the dried crunchy state. So I watched her as she would take a mouthful of the dried food over to the carpet , drop it all on the carpet, and then eat everything but the dried beans and carrots. She left those on the carpet for me to pick up. Ya – I don’t really want to be picking up these stupid bits every single day. But I am like a super genius and decide to dump out the whole bag on the counter – pick out the bean and carrot bits and chuck them in the garbage. Really – come on. This is Ridiculous – but I started so I actually finished. It took almost an hour.

After completing this tedious task I decided to reward myself with a nice hot bath. I love my baths. Zo always sits by the tub while I soak. She waits for me to get out and then dries my toes. I guess Zo’s new kitten Charlie wanted to become part of our bathing ritual. I saw her perched on the toilet seat – just watching. Okay – I am not stupid – I don’t trust this cat for nothin’. She is totally wild, and completely insane. I look at her and decide I was safe – I know she doesn’t like water – I know this for sure. How? Because when it was +35 out I thought she might like a little dip in Zozo’s pool. Ha! – Not so much. Don’t go getting all up in arms with me either. I was not being cruel – I didn’t just chuck her in. I had her on a leash and I lowered her in carefully and I was holding on tight. Lets just say I won’t do that again. And there is also the fact that I can now hold up a spray bottle of water and she halts in her tracks. This is my only defence against this 2 lbs. weapon of mass destruction. When I find her hanging on my sheers – a little spray of water – and she’s gone. The curtains are all snagged to shit now anyways – but that’s besides the point. There are times where I catch Charlie planning her next random attack on my home décor – and when I do – I call her name – show her my weapon – and she changes her little evil mind, for that moment in time anyways.

Okay – Okay – way off track again – I know.

So – I am relaxing in the tub – my knees up, my head on the inflatable pillow. I could sleep in that steamy hot water , I really could. My false sense of security has taken over any common sense. The tiny cute kitten,who I am now quite sure is a demented flying squirrel=cat, is planning her next attack.

My Moment of Zen is over in a quick second. Charlie – being the Cirque de Sol acrobat that she is has obviously scoped out my dry knees sticking up and has leaped towards them . She thinks she will be safe from the water but does not realize she has just scared the bejesus out of me. So I jolt – she drops. Before she gets “wet” she has somehow landed on my now upright chest. As I sit up she sinks her little razor claws into my boob. She is hanging from me like a cheap necklace. Not cute. This kitten has clawed the crap out of me , but I never thought I would get a boob scratch from her. I really should have known better. After removing the kitten from my body I know I have lost my chance for that relaxing bath moment.

As I reflect on my Friday night I know that I could be doing other things. If I really wanted I could go party it up , or go for dinner, go to a movie. Maybe I should change things up a bit – go out on Friday nights. Stop = I will not give in to the maniacal mayhem of this baby feline. I will be the boss of her. She will not dictate my life – or my Friday nights. Right?

Right?

CBC, Readers Digest, and Bobby Pins.

I have told you all before that this is the year I turn 50. And I am looking forward to it – even though I am kind of shocked I have made it this far. When I was 17 or 18 I could not even conceive the thought of eventually being 30, let alone 50 !! Seriously – I just thought I would die before ever being that old. Its not that I wanted to die , or that I was unhappy with life, I was just certain that I would never be old. Perhaps it was this mind set that made me never really believe I was getting old – or older. Somehow I managed to make 20 years disappear. One minute I was 30 (and quite fabulous I might add) and in the blink of an eye I am almost 50. I can’t say I am Fabulous but I can say I am pretty great. I am definitely a lot happier and way more content. And I am weirder. Yes – I am undeniably Weirder, and this is the part of aging I like the best. You can be as weird as you want and just chalk it all up to aging – or to menopause (if nothing else sounds right)

Its only in the last 2 years that I have received the Obvious Physical Signs of Aging. Some grey hairs, little wrinkles around the eyes, stiff and sore body, memory loss, and stupid menopause .
Seriously – If I would have been a little more aware of myself I would have realized that I was aging before the Big Slap in the Face Physical Signs ever hit me.

There are a lot of little things going behind the big pound and ground of physical aging. Simply little things – like retiring my high heels and opting for a more “comfortable” pair of shoes. I still have my sexy high stiletto shoes and I still love them. I even have tried to wear them on occasion…. ya ‘ not a great idea. If that isn’t self induced torture I don’t know what is. Or how about how all of a sudden I just didn’t watch music videos on TV anymore. I used to love MTV. But there was that one day when I go to turn on the music and it wasn’t “my” music. Where in the hell did “my’ music go? And who where all these new freaky young people on the TV. What kind of music is this – and why are their pants falling down. Somebody should really buy them some new pants. Maybe they need some Slacks. Some sharp, fitted Slacks. Quickly – I had to say “Slacks” – sorry – but I just love that word and do not get to use it often enough. Anyhow – these are just 2 examples but I am sure you all get the idea.

I have narrowed it down to 3 little things that have my 17 or 18 year old self would use as undisputable evidence that I am now older. And I make it very clear to my younger self that I not OLD – I am just old -ER (older). But lets appease my 17 year old self by submitting the unarguable evidence. Here it is :

Listening to CBC Radio
Reading Readers Digest
The use of Bobby Pins

I admit it – I am a CBC Lover. This was not always the case. The memories of my father blaring CBC radio throughout the house are still vivid. He had good hearing so I could never understand why he was playing the radio so friggin’ loud. And he would have CBC Radio blaring while he was playing the piano – even more annoying. Its amazing the lengths he went to – just to annoy me. I would come in the house and run straight for that radio and turn it down. Just like he would do to me if I was listening to Alice Cooper on sound level 1 or 2. I mean a dog couldn’t even hear that. I am not really sure when it happened but I started listening to CBC on my own – it was no longer the station that was the “nails on the chalkboard” . In fact – I even look up their guide – see what great things are ahead on the CBC. I cannot imagine life without Stuart McLean and the Vinyl Café. I could listen to that all weekend long.
My 17 year old self seriously would commit Hari Kari over this.

Yes – and Readers Digest. When I was 17 – or any age up until a few weeks ago. The only place I ever saw a Readers Digest was at my Grannies house. Really! I would pick it up and flip to the back pages where the little games were. They were so easy – I felt like a genius doing them. But the rest of the little book/magazine I could live without. I mean all the articles were on Life, cooking, health, culture, travel, or just dumb home handy stuff. No 17 year old needs this kind of information. We pretty much know everything at the perfect age of 17 – so its hard to imagine anyone benefiting from that stupid little book. Yup – you know it. I buy (purchase with my own money) Readers digest!! I am a reader, so this wonderful little book fills the perfect void in my life…that being a good Tub-Read. I am in the bath tub a lot – soaking my sore achy body in hot water and Epsom salts….and this book is so light weight, so perfectly sized for my arthritic hands. It is a match made in heaven. And I know without a doubt my 17 yr. old self is giving me the big stink eye as I say out loud how delightful I find all the little stories and articles. Readers Digest is now my new favourite magazine. ( and you rarely see a stiletto heel in it either – just sayin’) If anyone out there has struggled with tub-reading as I have in the past – just go get yourself a copy – problem is solved. You are Welcome.

Lastly – it is the Bobby Pin that has helped me to be more aware of my New Oldness. I have always had bobby pins in my make up case. Always. I don’t even know where I got them. I have never used them – but I have always had them on hand. Some old person must have given them to me – maybe when I was 17 – knowing I would use them someday. It must have been someone I really liked because I never chucked them. I mean aren’t Bobby pins to help keep the bun in your hair? A million bobby pins in those old lady buns you know. My 17 yr. old self would not be caught dead with a bobby pin in her head. I spent hours to curl my hair and try and get it just like Farrah Fawcetts hair. There was plenty of hair spray involved so a bobby pin would never ever have even been needed. Well don’t you just know it – the other day I came across my bobby pins and low and behold I am now a bobby pin user. Yup – that quick – it happened in the blink of an eye. They are in my hair right now. Yes they are. Are they fancy? Are they fashionable? Are they cute? No. No. And No. Do I care? No. No. And No. Its over 30 degrees outside – my hair has frizzed out to beat the band. And those little bobby pins work like a charm.

To sum it up – we all know the physical signs of aging, but we should all really take note of the little signs. It is the little signs that really give away our “real” age. We might still look good on the outside – but certain things are a dead giveaway to our “real” age. And maybe – just maybe when a 17 yr. old tells us we are old – well – they may not be right – but they are probably onto something. So watch for the signs people – all of the little signs.

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