Talking about your birthday ON your birthday should be on the cliche list

(I'll just add this note to the top because the title is vague I guess. It's not my birthday. But thanks for the good wishes anyway.)

I'm thirty-uhh... (checks calendar) thirty seven. I'm about halfway done, which means I'm middle-aged. I used to think "middle-aged" meant "old and grey." Now I know better. It means "old and greying."

I'm beginning to realize that this aging thing is a mixed bag. There are some things I can still do that make me happy because I'm not getting old as fast as I sometimes think. But there are other things that make me wonder if it isn't time to start learning more about home care.

I'm young because:

  1. I can listen to most of my kids' music without cringing, and vice-versa. The stuff of theirs that makes me want to swallow my tongue does so not because it's "that crazy music kids listen to nowadays," but because it's the same as the crap I hated when I was their age. It's a preference thing, not a generation gap thing. If my son knew I ripped his Disturbed CDs while he was at school I think it would ruin the whole band for him.

  2. I can still do all the physical things I used to do when I was a kid. I'm a skinny beanpole and always have been. I don't have a donut around my waist that keeps me from tying my shoes. Despite decades of smoking I can still shovel snow or chop wood with the best of them. Well, with the best of the other skinny undermuscled geeky people, I mean.

  3. Being a stringbean with a nuclear digestive tract, I can still eat corn chips or M&Ms by the bulk bag if I want. I've tried to gain weight my whole life. No good. Even my dad, who is less active than your average sea sponge, never gained more than two inches in his jeans until he hit his mid-60s. Neither did Grandpa.

  4. I still get zits. No, not like when I was a kid, but still! The world led me to believe this wouldn't be a problem once I finished celebrating my 21st birthday. The world lied. Sure, I can still eat those corn chips, but I'll pay the same price for doing so that I paid when I was a kid. So I don't. Well, not often, anyway.

On the other hand, I'm old because:

  1. Hair now grows from places I used to make fun of old men for. I'm developing those crazy eyebrows. You know those wooly things that stick out at all angles like a Centauri from Babylon 5? Yeah. I had this weird hair coming from the middle of my forehead last year. I yanked it as soon as I noticed, but I think my wife had already seen it by then. And don't even talk to me about ear hair. What the hell is that?! That stuff isn't even hair, it's some sort of white metal wire. Ugh.

  2. I'm an easy drunk. Granted, most of that's because I've been good since I started a family, but still! When two beers make me feel woozy you know something's off. Before, two pitchers would only improve my dart game. Now, if I drank that much and tried to play darts, I'd be throwing them from the floor.

  3. Under the TMI heading, fiber is good. It really IS necessary and somewhat interesting to talk about bowel movements with your spouse. Years ago I thought that was just some joke a comedian made up. Nuh uh. I am grateful that this is the 21st century, though. We have Prodiem now. That Metamucil junk looks awful!

  4. More TMI. Thin or not, I swear I have more skin than I used to. Not only do I have more forehead than any two normal men (with the exception of the odd wild hair, I mean), I've got saggy bits in places I don't like to talk about. When did that happen? My skinny dad never warned me that skinny butts can SAG! Bastard. I thought that only happened to normal-plus people. :( Come to think of it, I might have just the tiniest, wee little bitty hint of a wattle. Oh no.

  5. I'm not getting dumber. I know just as much as I always did. More, actually. I can kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit. The only problem is that I don't know it as fast as I used to. It's all there in the files, but the index cards are a bit disarrayed. I know there's a perfect word to finish a particular sentence. It's just that it's wedged behind a less-than-perfect word and won't be accessible until after I've given up, used the lesser one, and hit [enter].

  6. I know what "prostate" means. But I'll be damned if I'm going to do anything with that knowledge until I actually hit 40.

Happy birthday, 'loot! I would annoy the hell outta you and start a thread in the shack, but I figure you have your bday unlisted there for a reason. So have a great birthday, bask in the fact that you don't use adult diapers, and eat lots of greasy fried food for me, you skinny, pimply, high-foreheaded Canadian-type, eh?
Happy birthday, loot! Hope it's filled with all the awesomeness you deserve.
Silly people. That happened in November. But thanks.
You pain. You totally deserved that banning. ;-)
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