Wednesday
Apr092008
Whaaaa?
Wednesday, April 9, 2008 at 07:18PM
Blogs. Everyone I ever met in sophomore year of college who was "working on a manuscript" that moldered in their sock drawer prolly has one now.
And now, for my 39th birthday, my present is a bigger forum for self-congratulatory navel gazing than the same old four walls. (Jeepers! 2003 is gonna be great: I can just feel it!)
Funny, I'm not sure how this will turn out yet, but navel gazing does sorta tie in to something that's been weighing rather heavily on my mind:
GRAY PUBES!!!!
WTF? A formerly demure brown beaver has transformed into a geriatric alpaca, lurking beneath gray, worn-out "hipster briefs." Hawt!
It was a slow, insidious transformation. The postpartum inner tube had deflated just enough to permit a downward glance at the damage. The intervening weeks and months hadn't been kind. My once-dandy landing strip had become a curly rainforest teeming with silverbacks.
The the ever-widening gunmetal stripe overtaking the top of my head, I dunno, that's manageable. It's like a cancellation stamp that makes my latent "invisible to teenage checkout boys" status official once and for all. And there's always nice 'n' easy, or whatever's on sale in the health and beauty aisle. But this puts the "closed" sign on the shop doors in bold type: never again will a new, bandbox-perfect person emerge from my own personal Dark Wood of Bad Grooming.
It's not like I've taken to bed clutching a bottle of mouthwash, but jeez.
"On a very special Golden Girls, Blanche dyes her mound of Venus for a big date."
No thanks. Guess I'll just age with integrity from the waist down. But check out this shite, in case that's not in the cards for you.
How to cope with this betrayal of youth, sweet youth?
And now, for my 39th birthday, my present is a bigger forum for self-congratulatory navel gazing than the same old four walls. (Jeepers! 2003 is gonna be great: I can just feel it!)
Funny, I'm not sure how this will turn out yet, but navel gazing does sorta tie in to something that's been weighing rather heavily on my mind:
GRAY PUBES!!!!WTF? A formerly demure brown beaver has transformed into a geriatric alpaca, lurking beneath gray, worn-out "hipster briefs." Hawt!
It was a slow, insidious transformation. The postpartum inner tube had deflated just enough to permit a downward glance at the damage. The intervening weeks and months hadn't been kind. My once-dandy landing strip had become a curly rainforest teeming with silverbacks.
The the ever-widening gunmetal stripe overtaking the top of my head, I dunno, that's manageable. It's like a cancellation stamp that makes my latent "invisible to teenage checkout boys" status official once and for all. And there's always nice 'n' easy, or whatever's on sale in the health and beauty aisle. But this puts the "closed" sign on the shop doors in bold type: never again will a new, bandbox-perfect person emerge from my own personal Dark Wood of Bad Grooming.
It's not like I've taken to bed clutching a bottle of mouthwash, but jeez.
"On a very special Golden Girls, Blanche dyes her mound of Venus for a big date."
No thanks. Guess I'll just age with integrity from the waist down. But check out this shite, in case that's not in the cards for you.
How to cope with this betrayal of youth, sweet youth?
tagged aging, neurosis in Brain Lint
aging, neurosis in Brain Lint
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