A small mention of the term, “Midlife,” was used yesterday that I wanted to tap into that a bit further. As I am at the nose-end of Gen Y, or tail end of Gen X-Still not sure about that-I am in the age bracket succeptible to the “midlife crisis” or “midlife transition.” And, as I have noticed that I am going through this, I wondered if any other Gen Y-ers (and most definitely, Gen X-ers, were going through this too… Not everyone does, but, of course the odds WOULD BE in my favor. You can pin, what DOESNT happen to me, more so than you could detail the unnerving list of what DOES. It’s likely a 3:23 ratio. And let me clarify for some dumbasses out there… the midlife crisis for a woman is NOT the same as the transition of menopause. Thats another 20 years down the road. Idiots.
yeah, this is exactly what it looks like
I’ve been researching this topic for days upon days now and what I’ve learned so far?
I’m definitely going through it. (Although, seeing it surveyed as a “transition,” as if it’s puberty seems comical; But, somewhat fitting. I’ll likely never mature.)
It is NOT the same as menopause. (Disappointed my monthly visitor will still pop by.)
It is not a mental illness. (But it sure as hell feels like one.)
I should be buying a shiny sportscar and getting botox. (If a hot wheels counts, I’ve lready got a Lamboghini in metallic green. And as for the botox; There could be worse things than ending up on “Botched.”)
Last, but not least: Nobody around you will take your midlife crisis as seriously as you. The person enduring it. (Welcome to my groundhog day.)
So, I’ve been moody. Aren’t you always? Shut up. I’ve been difficult. But, don’t you usually-Ahem. I’ve been a little on the random side. Zip it. Don’t even think about it, jackass. But the main thing I keep encountering is the unanswerable question, “Why are we here?” and “Where is the [proverbial] window I want to jump out of?”
Everything I’ve learned about life up until now, feels like a big fat farce. ( I should’ve just said fart. That’s what I really wanted to say.) While I haven’t finished my research up on the subject, I thought I’d invite you to take this poll above. Let me know if you’ve experienced this fuckery or think you may be starting to have one, or if you’ve never had one and think its bologna. I’d like to hear from you! I believe I have barely scratched the surface of the midlife transition; But, the fact that most people think A) It’s only MEN who go through this, or B) It’s not even a real thing, it’s an excuse for a MAN to toss his current wife, for a younger model; These stereotypes about it have intrigued me and illicited me to talk about it. Otherwise, I have no other excuses for my behavior lately… Except that I may be going bonkers. Which could be the case, since the jury’s still out.
Buuwa.Ha.Ha. My cree-ation IS neearly… Fiiinished. (you’re supposed to have a Trannsylvanian accent here)
As you may be able to tell, I’ve been reworking my website. Grrr. And reworking my website. Argh. And… reworking my damn website. Keep a lookout for flying frying pans. I’ve moved my nearly two years of blog posts from blogger to WordPress and revamping my marketing strategies; all while in the rewrite phase of my novel’s first draft. My bedroom looks like a file cabinet spontaneously combusted and what WAS an air hockey table, is now a makeshift storyboard confuktory. Sorry kids, no flying pucks while writing is in progress. I lied. Duck! All that’s missing in this lab, is the volatile liquids and witch’s cauldron.But, add a dash of this mad writer-scientist gone SEO MAD, and KAPLOWIE! We have a high functioning website, a finished novel ready for the masses, and I’m on a plane to Fiji. OKAY… well, maybe not quite yet. And A Fuji apple is about as close as I’m going to get to that island getaway. Sigh.
…Or is it?
As I may be presumptuous in assuming you are about a Tilt-A-Whirl sick of hearing about my “never-ending novel” story, as I am leaning over a trash can, vomiting, trying to finishing this mother f***er. The highs and lows of my moods have been wonderful during this time. Midlife much? And I use the term “wonderful,” loosely. And more distinctively so, sarcastically. Having always chosen the path voted to be “Most Unstable,” I’ve fared pretty decently from it. Again, loosely defined. I’ve endured tea pots of rage and been at the bottom of a bottle of mineral water, in tears under the blankets of my sofa. Which I’m still making payments. On the sofa, not the mineral water. But, the mineral water import could be as bad as a smoking addiction at this point. Living on the edge with those credit cards still, I see… yeah, well, I live for the danger. #hidetheresacreditoratthedoor Hello? Hi, oh no, you have the wrong customer, my payment is in the mail. Have a beautiful day though.
Happy Mother’s Day, mommies! A thankless job comes to a head this Sunday morning to test all our little boogers on their merciless “thank you” skills. A day for us moms to bask in the laziness of the day and reap the rewards of motherhood. All in one day. What rewards? Do I get a trophy? That would be awesome; But highly doubtful. Wah. I like trophies. But who knows… I’m willing to take the little wins in life. Spread the gratitude for our mother’s hard work, laying out our futures. Although, why my mother keeps insisting I was adopted, is a bit suspicious. I knew I was really a Hilton. Or at least that would explain my insatiable love for designer shoes and handbags.
Before I could open a yawn to the day, my adorable child brought me coffee and amaretti’s in bed. Even the boy knows that without coffee, I am a miserable old cow. But, that wasn’t the end of it, he also made poached eggs and ham. I was in heaven. This is usually me on the other end of the kitchen delivery and this morning I was awakened to a blessed breakfast with a perfectly cooked egg, I might add. I knew this little munchkin could cook. Ok, maybe he’s not a little one anymore -the monster is pushing 6’1- but regardless, the monkey has been pretending to not know how to cook! I bit my tongue. Normally, my sarcasm and bratty tone would have commenced but I was determined to enjoy all this pampery. Please clean up. Please clean up. Please clean up.
I can’t believe it. Pinch me. He cleaned up too. No, seriously, pinch me. He put away the clean dishes from the dishwasher, took out the trash, and even tidied up the messery he made cooking said yum yums. I don’t know if I am in a dream or if I am being punked; But, I do know, it’s probably best not to question the appreciation I’m being shown today. Just revel in it. Enjoy the love spewing from the young buck. Fine, I’ll pinch myself. Hmmm… it’s not a dream. *insert cheesy grin here. I’m really a blessed mommy and my baby is turning out to be a fine young man. I hope all you mommies out there are having a beautiful day today. Take time to breathe it all in and enjoy it. Because tomorrow, we are on our own again, clucking to the underappreciated grind. Bok! Bok!
There’s only so much a girl can take. Be it one issue after another with my car’s health, a campaign against Keurig for making a machine (which I bought) and can find -no- place to buy the damn pods for it, or a retaliation against my building for taking a personal interest in targeting residents over nothing more than, the dragon lady just being a miserable old wench, acting out her midlife crisis. Get a convertable like a regular aging sod! Have an illicit affair! Geesh! Leave your tenants alone who have done nothing to you! And don’t think I haven’t witnessed you NOT pick up after your dog’s business. Petition for an ejection, anyone?
If I were to just fade into the background, then it would please people to just dissipate. Oh gosh, not likely. But, since that doesn’t sound like something I would do… NOT AT ALL. I believe, I’ll once again, be fighting for what’s right. Where’s my superhero cape? I guess that means I need to fight back against any injustice surrounding me. Ah, found it, underneath my deodorant. Again. Ugh. Life of the underdog, I guess… This started way back in 5th grade though. There was a boy who was constantly being picked on and once I saw it, I had to get involved. Yes, you read that correctly. A boy was being bullied. I was put in a position to take action and beat up the boy bully and became the weakling’s protector. *rolling eyes. I’m not saying violence is the answer, I was in elementary school. It was a different time then; But, now as an adult I imagine, one of these days, I wll find someone who will actually love me enough to protect me from harm’s way; But, with nary any luck in that department, I just keep plugging away at fighting for little injustices in the world. I need a theme song. Los Angeles has a bullshit meter of millenium proportions. In general, I find people to be more rude, more miserable and more advantageous in their quests to try to keep people down around them who are doing better than them. Or prettier. Or whataever lame ass excuse they can find to be so evil toward other people and “justify” their, OBVIOUS, insecurities. So what. You’re not whole. You hate your whole life. It doesn’t give you the right to sell me a coffee maker that I can’t just pop into any store and get pods on the regular. Add that fucker to my slew of “wish I hadn’t bought that” to my kitchen cabinet of death. And in case you aren’t sure… That’s the cabinet up top that you have to drag a chair to, to reach whatever’s in that graveyard. I hate that.
Yes, friends and co-workers of the city, that I hold dear… this rant obviously excludes you. You’re on the meter of amazing. *Cheesy grin. It’s too bad life isn’t all rainbows and chop choo trains… I could really use a ride on the caboose with some funnel cake.
It astonishes me how weird crap always happens to me – and I mean, ALWAYS. Just finds its way to my lovely handbag, chockful with a plethora of oddball experiences. I’m shopping for necessities at Walmart the other day and this guy to my right shoulder is doing something bizarre. I’m afraid to look; But, curiosity gets the best of me… And, I freaking look. Why do I insist on the one stop shopping Walmart has to offer? Embarrassingly, Rhetorical. And… what do I see? Oh, that’s right. He’s got his hands down his pants. Lovely. Now, I don’t think I’m so freaking hot that I illicit a masterbater to take idle hands to play; But, clearly, this tickler pickler thinks otherwise.
Add insult to my mind’s eye’s injury, he notices me looking at him -Hey! I looked at him… IN. DISGUST.- but since that doesn’t dissuade him, he forges ahead and whips that eggplant right out of his pants. I’m not a huge fan of eggplant anyway; But, this just sealed the fate on that for good. It’s like the kid in elementary school who only responds with bad behavior no matter how hard to try to tame that wild child… and likely ends up this Walmart weiner guy. Maybe he didn’t notice my look of disgust? Maybe he’s a fan? Maybe he’s just gross? I’ll take “gross” for the win, Pat! (Wheel of Fortune reference.)
This takes me back to an episode in high school. My sister and I were driving home from school and we look to the vehicle in the lane next to us. Mr. Wonderful looks at us and puts his fingers to his mouth in a “V” shape, and puts them up to his mouth. Proceeds to stick his tongue through said, makeshift twat, and basically, professes a disgusting action. Oh, but it does not end there. After he saw our shocked reactions, this driving degenerate decides that humping his steering wheel and looking at us was a more, fun action, he just had to engage in. Couldn’t make this up. I wish I could embellish but lucky for you guys and gals, this shit just walks into my path. So, I guess I must accept that someone has signed me up for a lifetime of creepiness, when I my back was turned. #creeplife Maybe the weiner flasher is the same guy who just showed me -the unwilling party- his peepee. What would be the odds that it was the same guy? Lightening can strike twice.
Being a single mom with work, aspirations, and a hankering for a quick meal. I am always looking for a way to whip up something quick and hearty for my child. Microwave noodles anyone? Nobody wants a visit from child protective services for undernourishment allegations. Feed that little monkey more than just peanut butter and Cheetos! And with that in mind, I also need to find something my kid will like to eat as well. No, you can’t have candy, boy. Step away from the nougat… So, I was watching The Today Show last fall, and they were doing a segment on tailgate ideas. As I imagine, most of us know what tailgating is; But, I’ll elaborate for those, not, on the same bus. Beep. Beep. Tailgating is what sports fans do when they take their cars, trucks, or even RVs to the parking lot of the sporting event, pop open the “tailgates” of their trucks and eat, drink and sometimes start fights over game facts and/or teams. It’s a neanderthal way of fun; But, I sure enjoy the hell out of it every football season! Go Chargers!
Anyway, one of the dinners I decided to adopt into my abode was the scoop of chili, into a bag of Fritos, concoctionry. What? Yup. Sounds good, right? Except I didn’t have chili. Nor, did I have Chili Cheese flavored Fritos neither. I did have regular mini bags, of Fritos. And I had a whole chicken. Bok. Bok. The poultry was on sale. Cut me some slack. $4 dollars for a whole chicken?! Hell yeah.. Bok. Bok. Sale pollo. That’s right, it’s all about the coupons.
I toss that foul into the crockpot, add a couple bottles of bbq sauce and cook that bad boy down until the meat came off the bones. Removed the bones, stirred it up, popped open the Fritos bag and voila. Hearty and speedy white trash dinner. Tossed some scoops of the pulled bok bok into the bag, add a fork, boom. The child was happy and ate about 4 bags full of this gluttonous glory. Toss a couple shaved scallions on top and you have some veggies in the mix too! The boy was happy. I was happy. The state would be happy. Feed on!
Is it just me, or is it just, plain odd to see grown ass men walking around with Jansport backpacks like they’re teenagers going from class to class? Stop it. You’re killing me. You’re not a child anymore. There are only three reasons that explain why a big boy is using a backpack in the first place. 1. He’s a homeless drug addict. 2. He hasn’t updated his gear since he was 12. Or, 3. He’s a runaway. And assuming, none of the aforementioned, are actual defenses: THROW AWAY THE STINKING BACKPACKS!
Criminy. Thank you. I’m proud of you… I know that was tough. But, change is a good thing. I know, it is uncomfortable.. But, trust me you will thank me. I’ve jotted down some bulltpoints to get you, or your dude, on the right track to a look that will be current and practical.
A backpack disguised as a briefcase, or in the form of an over-the-shoulder bag. This gives the appearance of professionalism, without sacrificing pocket space.
A backpack for traveling, you say? Only in the shape -and style- of a duffle bag. This allows a roomy inside with an exterior that doesnt scream, “Hey! I’m really a hobo!”
And last; But, not least, The camping backpack. This is, by all intents and purposes, the ONLY plausible option for an actual backpack…. with the visual being an actual, oversized backpack. You’re in the woods, you need to pack first aid kits and hot dogs; Therefore, you necessitate the useful need of said, structured bag.
Now that you’ve been properly introduced to the backpack’s benign use as an adult, you are now free to go shopping for anything that doesn’t make you look like a homeless drug addict. Or become “twinsies” with my 6 year old neighbor. You’re welcome. I told you, you were going to thank me…