SB is Forty-Fucking-Three

Well, fuck me
SB is 40-fucking-3!

Off work today. Just sitting here with a lovely cup of Starbuck's White Mocha Cappuccino in the quiet house, with the excellent company of my absolute best friends in the world, Ginger and Mercer. They don't talk a lot and that makes for a good morning in my book. Incidentally, SB was born at 10:02 at night. There was no way my ass was making an appearance in the morning. Also, the bars aren't open then. I held out until dark.

[I just yelled at my absolute best friend in the world, Ginger, because her dumb canine ass is trying to eat the cat's food.]

I took the day off from work today because I am fucking old, and I didn't want to be hassled about it. People do dumb shit and think it's humorous as hell on birthdays. I hoped to avoid that.

I don't even know how I got this age. I sure as hell don't want to celebrate it. As Kurt Vonnegut once asked: How did that happen? Christ, SB is three years older than John Lennon when he was shot! And believe me, John Lennon was the height of maturity to me when that shit went down. I can't believe I've out-lived him. I really can't.

No big plans today. It's cold and rainy here in Ohio, and I asked Mother Nature to cooperate and give me a nice warm sunny day today, but that bitch is fickle. So, my ass is just going to bag around and do what I feel like doing. Mr. SB is out of town on business and won't be back until the early evening, so it's just me and the two furry kids and the bed and probably several naps on the no-agenda. I love to sleep. If sleep were an Olympic event, SB's ass would take the Gold. I'm old, therefore, I nap.

Anyhoo, for you youngsters out there, I can't speak for anyone but myself, but personally, I don't see any recompenses for getting older. Frankly, everything is going to hell, and I don't feel like I've gained any wisdom or greater acceptance of things. I just get up to piss more during the night and sleep worse and ache in the places that I used to play (as my wise old friend Leonard Cohen would say).

In fact, I did some standing lunges the other day, and instead of feeling muscle-sore in my butt cheeks and thighs, my damn knee is sore, because I'm too goddamn fat, and I'm putting too much stress on my knees while lunging. It's not a good exercise kind of sore--just an old joints kind of sore.

So there's that. And I sound really depressed about my age, and I am, but I am looking forward to my long weekend and being on my own schedule. I am just depressed that I even care at this stage about no longer being rail thin, starting to have a more weathered-looking face and thinner hair, and not sleeping around more when I was young, skinny, and single. I was really cute, and I didn't date enough or fuck enough, and goddamn it--I'm older and not as cute and married now--and I will never be able to remedy that situation. It is simply over. That's the worst thing about ageing, it narrows your options.

Regrets, I've had a few. . . [Note: I'm hearing Sid Vicious's version here, not Frank Sinatra's.]

So that's the sum total of my wisdom at 40-fucking-3, kids: Fuck more! Okay, I'm just kiddding. Sort of.

I know I'll regret this honesty in a day or two, but right now, I'm feeling old and brave. Not wiser, just braver. Maybe that is the only recompense. You give a shit less.

Can you imagine the shit I'll say by the time I'm in the nursing home? I really WILL be like my hero, Grandpa, in Little Miss Sunshine.

Fuck you, I can say what I want! That's what I should have named this blog.