Old Codgers and Poking Pantyhose

Valentine’s Day is right around the corner and I’m on a blog tour to celebrate the release of my new book, Twelve Days of Love from Ellora’s Cave. http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-9071-50-twelve-days-of-love.aspx I’m calling the tour the UNValentine’s Day Tour. Why? Because I think we put too much faith in this one day and are often disappointed. We buy into the media hype and our expectations get so high we end up taking a nose dive that can be very frustrating if not downright painful. Making sure your honey knows you love him and vice versa is something that should be a daily part of your routine. But there is just too much emphasis placed on this ONE day. So during the month of love, I’m going to be blogging about the pitfalls of that big red heart-shaped day. Stay tuned. I'll be here at Four Strong Women through Saturday and it's going to be a riot. LOL I'm also over at Three Wicked Writers Plus Two today. You might want to take a look at all the love I'm sharing there too. LOL http://threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/2011/02/all-love-in-my-junk-folder.html

On today’s agenda? Old age and love.

So I was sitting at the computer and the words on the screen began to look a bit fuzzy. I squinted and things improved, but then I remembered what that does to my face and how it wasn’t good for smoothing out lines in the forehead or those little crinkles at the edge of the eyes. My face relaxed and the screen became fuzzy again. (Notice I never mentioned the word wrinkle?)

I had to go dashing through the house asking everyone in sight—including the four dogs and two Beta fish—if they’d seen my reading glasses. Yes, I have a pair—actually three pairs and can never find them. They’re cute little things, kinda sexy in a way. Rhinestones embedded in them and adorable little glittery butterflies. Just enough bling to make me feel like I’m in my twenties and help me forget I’m wearing a pair of old people reading glasses. At least I think that’s the intent of the design—making it all easier to swallow.

Well, it’s still hard to swallow which is why I can never find the damn things. Eventually I did locate two pairs of them, and I’m sitting here wearing a pair now. I’m trying to remember to put them on when I’m on the computer, which is a whole helluva lot. Basically, I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that I need these damn things.

Just how old do you have to be to be old? And have you seen a Valentine’s Day commercial directed at OLDER PEOPLE? I guess we don’t deserve love and if we had it wouldn’t know what to do with it. Is that the message we’re getting from the media by not getting our very own commercial?

When my oldest was six, I distinctly remember her saying something along the lines of “old people like you”—referencing me, of course. Well, I damn sure wasn’t old when she said that. But she sure as hell thought I was. I was lamenting over the whole issue a bit last night when I was upset over these damn reading glasses, even if they do freaking sparkle, and said something like: “I’m so freaking old.” She smiled and said, “You’re not that old, just youthfully challenged.”

Was that supposed to make me feel good? I told her about my friend who works as a nurse at a retirement home and the steamy stories of sex that she tells about those youthfully challenged folk. Well that got me a “ewwwwwwwwwwwwww…just ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww” from her. WTF? When I was her age I was drooling over men in their forties. Something isn’t right here for sure. Either she’s off or I am. And I’m betting it’s her. Men with seasoning? That’s where it’s at. Even if the Valentine’s Day industry doesn’t recognize it. That big jewelry store company—Kay’s??? I bet they would triple sales if they went out and hired George Clooney or Sean Connery to do a commercial for them. Hell, I’d go buy myself a damn diamond. Sink ALL my savings into it. LOL

A couple of days ago, I read Sarah Masters’ (aka Natalie Dae) post on tact and telling people to mind their own business and such. http://fourstrongwomen.blogspot.com/2011/02/do-you-dare-say-what-you-really-think.html All about being honest in what you’d really like to say. Well, this whole aging issue is a place where I think we can just leave the honesty behind. We can add to the list things like: the size of our butts, new hairstyle issues, and just generally anything at all to do with appearance as far as I’m concerned.

It would be different if I were planning on doing something like going on American Idol to sing when I actually have no talent for singing. I’m a big believer that someone should tell you the truth before you do that for sure. Steven Tyler is sexy but not so sexy I’d make a damn fool of myself for him in order to see him up close and personal. And if I decided to try and enter the Miss Hawaiian Tropic Contest, I’d want someone to stop me dead in my tracks. But I really think it’s okay to let me walk out the door with my butt looking a little bigger than it really is in order to spare my feelings and keep me sane because tomorrow I’ll wear the black pants. (Always wear black, ladies. Johnny Cash had the right idea. The color covers a multitude of sins and you always look classy.)

But I digress. I was talking about age. And old people love. sighhh

On a Yahoo group the other day someone brought up boob jobs. If I were to get a boob job it would be for reduction, not pumping them up. And some of you are just sitting there thinking that I was lucky. Well, let me tell you about lucky big-boobed women. As you age, gravity messes with you big time.

Isaac Newton should have minded his own damn business.

So if you’ve got small boobs, it’s a lot less noticeable. But if you’ve got big ones? Honey, those hooters don’t just fall to the sides when you lie flat, they start falling as you lie back and you end up on top of them. Makes me want to sleep in my freaking bra. And if I had a man in bed next to me, I’d do just that. So, guess there is a reason for being unattached after all. I used to tie a ribbon around my hair before I went to bed at night. Now I use that ribbon to lasso my boobs to keep from mashing them. They might be pillowy soft, but it doesn’t feel good when you wake up with one tit asleep and the other just plain damn numb. Maybe that’s why the VD advertisers don’t use senior citizens in their ads. As you know, you have to be big-busted to get any attention from those people anyway. Funny. They love ‘em when you’re young and hate ‘em when you’re old.

Now. Do we want to talk about asses? Yeah, let’s do. I have to admit, as asses go and age, mine isn’t too bad. It’s still pretty firm. Which is damn surprising considering how much time I spend sitting at this freaking computer. But I have noticed it’s not quite as perky as it used to be for sure. You know how it is—they sort of have a little oomph to them. Lift. Well, mine is a bit flatter than it used to be for sure. I gave a fleeting thought to stuffing my panties with tissue but banished it just as quickly as it came. Might work for the boob department but I don’t think it would have the same success with an ass. The one thing I’ve discovered that is a major major no no for flat asses is wearing loose-fitting pants. Once you’ve sat down a few times in those pants, it looks like you could move an entire family in. So my advice is to go for the more snug-fitting ones and just endure the tightness until they loosen just a little. And it also helps to wear a shirt that comes down over your ass a bit too. AND…wear something sparkly up top. Draws attention away from your ass for sure. AND never ever ever walk away from a man if you have ass issues. Sort of side-step yourself away. Know what I mean? Yep, as you go, he’ll be dead eye-balling your flanks—so make an appealing exit. And if you’re dating an old codger—same age as you—chances are he’ll need his glasses too and won’t be wearing them for the same reason as you—VANITY—and about ten feet away he won’t be able to tell if your ass is firm and high or low and squishy.

Ever hear this: “There’s always room for Jello”?

Well, no, there’s not. Thighs. I will never ever again wear a swimsuit that doesn’t come without one of those little skirt thingies. Oh hell…who am I kidding? I’ll never ever ever wear another swimsuit. Any old codger wants to see MY inventory, he’ll have to get me drunk and in a blackout room and we’ll still be doing it with my clothes on! What the hell can you do about jiggly thighs? Nothing, that’s what. Oh no, don’t talk to me about some damn thighmaster and some damn health club where you get all sweaty. Besides, who has the freaking time to go to the gym? My time is NOT my own. It belongs to family mostly, then writing and promotions—and don’t get me started on housework and cooking. And I don’t want to exercise either. Walk, yes. But target my thighs just in case some old codger decides to part my legs and I don’t want him feeling anything too jiggly and soft? Uhhhh…no. Like I said, I’ll just keep my clothes on. Maybe I can have my clothes altered in the crotch with a little Velcro opening? Hmmm…Shit. I’ll just wear a dress if I go out with the old codger and he can punch a hole through the pantyhose! That is, if he can still punch.

Older love. It’s complicated. Maybe that’s why the VD advertisers don’t embrace our age group. sighhh

You know…there are a lot of things, situations, and people that piss me off in this world. Growing older is one of them. And since I’ve been getting older, I find that my ability to get pissed off comes much easier than it used to. That’s not to say I have less patience now. I have MORE patience now. I think it has to do with getting smarter and seeing and hearing stupid stuff that just isn’t necessary. Arguing with my kids when they know what I say is law and I’m going to win no matter what they say and how old they are just isn’t necessary. So I get pissed off a lot faster because we’ve been there, done that. Arriving at the mechanic’s shop to pick up my car only to find out it won’t be ready for two more hours is just not necessary. He has a freaking phone. He could have called me. Going to the local Department of Motor Vehicles to have a duplicate drivers license made because I lost the other one and having the examiner look at my new license and hearing her say: “You’ve got the gray covered much better in this shot than the last” somehow deserves a nasty comeback, doesn’t it? Something like…”I hear they’re doing free makeovers all month long at Merle Norman. You should stop by.” YEAH. I DID.

Another thing I’ve discovered with age is that I tend to think faster. You didn’t see that coming now did ya? Well, it’s true. How many times in your life have you thought of the perfect thing to say to some asshole two hours later? I don’t have that problem any longer. Barbs and jibes just sit on the tip of my tongue waiting for someone to piss me off. Why? I’ve decided it’s because with age you simply don’t give a damn. You’ve gotten pretty far in life and at some point you come to realize it’s all a crap shoot. Just a roll of the die—like that damn woman who lives five miles from me who just won big in the freaking lottery. She and her hubby both are local politicians. He was in the State House for a while and opposed the lottery. I didn’t vote for either one of them. Where is the justice in all of that? Why shouldn’t I be pissed off?

Old age simply gives you permission. So while I don’t enjoy the physical changes, age does have its benefits. One of my kids was sitting next to me on the sofa with her lap top. All of a sudden she says, “OH MY GOD.” So I bit. “What?” She says, “One of my FB friends is in the doctor’s office and there is this really old woman in there about eighty or so and she took off her sock and started chewing on it. Her son tried to take it away from her and she called him a MoFo!”

She immediately started typing in a comment. I stopped her. She looked at me kind of funny and I said: “Let me.” She raised a brow but slid the laptop over to me. I tapped on the keys.

“RAISE HELL GRANDMA! AIN’T NONE OF ‘EM WORTH A SHIT! CHEW BABY, CHEW!”
Comment entered. Child’s mouth wide open. I felt complete.

Growing old can be fun. So in keeping with the spirit of fun AND since this is the month of love…



By the way. I found out yesterday that the cover for Latin Rhythm http://pinkpetalbooks.com/Latin-Rhythm-Tess-MacKall.html is a finalist in the Eppie’s Ariana Awards for Best Cover. So if you’re an Eppie Member and plan on voting, take a look at the cover and If you like it—think it’s the best, as do I, then give it a vote. It’s much appreciated. The cover was created by Winterheart Designs.



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