May 25, 2006
Been thinking about a lot of things these last couple of days. I’m sure I over analyze the trivial and skip over much of what should be important to me. Oh well.
I’m just not ready to live as it seems to be expected of me. I already know I’m old as hell – I don’t mind being old, that’s what happens to we the lucky ones. It’s going to happen to you too, sympathetic reader.
I just hate to be assigned a role based on my age. “You’re going to the club?” “You can skate?” “You’re going to wear that?”
“Hells yeah to all three!”
I look good, I smell good, I’m sexy. (I already know what you’re thinking and it’s funny, so go ahead and laugh: The old broad in the club with the too tight clothes in red or burgandy, showing waaay too much low-hanging cleavage, wearing inches of Fashion Fair makeup, hair freshly dyed jet-black to match the weave ponytail she’s been rocking for the last 10 years, reeking of “Poison” or “Opium”, feet shrieking in the black suede spikes she’s told herself are back in style, and drinking Johnny Black with a Bud chaser. Nope that ain’t me.)
Let’s do that again: I look good, I smell good, I’m sexy. I would date your brother who’s only 30. I would date your uncle who’s 53. Both of them want to date me. I’ll hang out with anyone who’s fun to be with, at least for part of an evening (one of my ex’s called me his “ADD wife” based on what he called my short attention span, which we will discuss at a later date.) and will do whatever it is I wish to do at any point during a date.
In conclusion (acting as though there’s a real point to this) I’ll leave you with this: don’t judge me.