Tag Archives: baby boomers

I Get Around. Or so I’ve Heard.

Be sure to check out my post over at Life in the Boomer Lane today. It is one I wrote early in my blogging career and was read by only a few folk. Renee is very passionate about promoting awareness of issues concerning boomers and aging – and she does so with humor, compassion, and words that will make you spit your coffee all over the keyboard or laugh till you cry. Either way, there will be body fluids. Plus, she wears really cute shoes.

I also have a new blog “DreadMill Diaries” about my adventures in trying to whip myself (literally and figuratively) into shape. You can pop over there by clicking on the tab at the top (up there at the top of this page, on the left) if you’re interested. No need to follow both blogs – unless you’re a true glutton for punishment, that is. I’ll try to let you know on this blog if I post anything exciting (like if the DreadMill attacks, I choke that effin’ know-it-all other voice, or I commit some heinous crimes due to low blood sugar). It’s going to be an adventure.

And, if you didn’t see it already – I have a post that I wrote for Romantic Monday over at Edward Hotspur’s place.

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Stuck in the Middle (Age) with You

I seem to be mired in a deep rut these days.  The sides are slippery and I feel like even if I could climb out of it, there is a deep sink hole waiting to swallow me up just outside this rut.  So maybe I’ll stay right here.  This is that crazy time “Middle Age”*** – can’t quite pull off young and not yet ready for the retirement home.  Somewhere between having to worry about birth control and funeral arrangements.  Here are ten truths I’ve discovered about middle age:

1.  I had it good back in the day.

But I didn’t know it.  I thought I was fat. Now I am all set for the next famine.  I had boundless energy.  Now I can barely lift the remote.  I could play poker all night, work all day, and sling meals effortlessly. Now I can barely make reservations.  I managed a household on top of a full time job and 2 robust and active boys.  Now I manage to get from the bed to work to the couch and call it a good day.

Someone is bound to notice this hairdo.

2.  Beauty is a full time job.

In my younger days, I could still turn a few heads (especially if those heads had been drinking).  Getting dolled up meant enhancing my natural assets with a touch of mascara and lip gloss.  Now I fill wrinkles with spackle and cover age spots with a thick layer of “age defying” shellac. Even industrial strength hair coloring cannot cover what is growing out of my head, and my chin hairs are alarming in both their length and strength.  My moustache is envied by Justin Bieber.  I’d give myself a pedicure if I could reach (or even see) my toes.  But I don’t know why I bother because…

3.  You become invisible.

Somewhere around 43 or 44 you will become invisible – no matter how beautiful (or loud, or funny) you are.  Children are cute, youngsters are hip and savvy.  Oldsters are entitled to respect and senior discounts.  You are just there – sort of – if anyone even notices.  All those things you thought you’d do if you were invisible – not happening.

20120310 Amazon motorized scooter

 I traded my roller blades for this (Photo credit: kbrookes)

4.  Half the distance takes you twice as long. 

I can no longer open jars by myself, my eyesight is failing faster than my vision insurance covers new lenses, and my teeth are wearing down.  I have fillings older than many billionaire CEO whippersnappers and they are working loose at an alarming rate (the fillings – not the CEOs).  My joints are achy and any rapid movements could land me in traction.  While I don’t yet need a hover-round, I am not exactly zipping about on foot, either.  I’ve traded sexy shoes for comfortable ones.  I spend 2 hours a day on exercise – an hour dreading it, half an hour trying to talk myself into it (by promising myself a bowl of ice cream afterward), and 30 minutes letting the dog drag me down the sidewalk.

5.  Your brain will let you down.

I can’t remember things.  Except at 3:00 a.m.  Then I remember the name I couldn’t recall when I saw that old acquaintance today.  I remember what I meant to get at the grocery store but couldn’t remember where I left my list.  I remember birthdays on the day of – too late to send a card, but if I’m lucky, not too late to call or Skype, if I could remember where my cell phone is or remember my Skype password.  I remember to feed the dog when she begins gnawing on my leg.  Then I remember I meant to get dog food.

6.  Your life is filled with wonder.

You wonder why bad things happen to good people.  You wonder how many times a heart can break.  You wonder how a One Minute Manager can make 8 hours seem like a year.  You wonder why liars, abusers, thieves, perverts, killers and other rat-bastards get to breathe the same air as the most innocent child.  You wonder if you’ve done enough with your life.  You wonder what you did to deserve the bounty you’ve been given.  You wonder why monogamy seems so hard for so many.  You wonder if you’ll be remembered for your wit or your chocolate chip cookies, or for walking around with your skirt tucked up in your pantyhose.  You wonder why it takes 10 minutes to consume a pan of brownies but 7 hours on the treadmill to get rid of them.  You wonder where in the hell you left your car keys.

7.  You have enemies.

Time, insomnia, karma, and gravity.

8.  You start hanging out with well-educated rich people.

Pharmacists, orthopedists, ophthalmologists and MDs.

9.  Your roles change.

Your children are grown, even if they still live in the basement.  You’ve imparted all the lessons you’re gonna give ‘em –  they still know more than you (for a few more years, at least).  Your parents are off enjoying their retirements and spending your inheritance.  They’ve imparted all the lessons they’re gonna give you and they still know more than you (for a few more years, at least).  You get to worry about both and can control neither.

10.  This is the time of your life.

You’ve done a lot of hard work.  You watch your children work to find their way in this world, and you remember the journey.  You know who you are and what you are.  You’ve seen enough to know what is coming down the road…if you live long enough you’ll lose family members, friends, acquaintances and co-workers to disease or accidents.  You enjoy the health you have left, even as you feel it slipping away.  You will never again be as young as you are today.  Youth and beauty may be leaving you in the dust, but you know that experience, wisdom and treachery trump all that, anyway.

***I am middle-aged if my life expectancy is 114.

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Filed under General Mumblings, humor

There is Good News…and There is Bad News (Part 2)

Good News and Bad News

Good News and Bad News (Photo credit: Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com)

Well, sorry dear readers, I did not mean to keep you hanging there, but I was so tired and it was after midnight when I posted (There is Good News…and Bad News Part 1) in the wee hours of yesterday morning.  After an astounding 3 1/2 hours of sleep and one migraine headache,

Migraine Barbie has Snapped!

Migraine Barbie has Snapped! (Photo credit: Deborah Leigh (Migraine Chick))

followed by a long and semi-productive day at the office, and the opening of an IRA (at the credit union which readily accepts my paycheck but informed me I am not a member) to avoid having to send my least favorite relative, Uncle Sam, any of my hard earned cash – I am ready to complete my delivery of the news.  That sentence, right there folks, is deserving of a grammatical “time out” and a mandatory three-post probation.  Since I am too lazy to rewrite it, I plead guilty and will not appeal the maximum sentence…

Uncle Sam BW

Uncle Sam BW (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Good News is…I now know what is wrong with me.

The Bad News is:  I now know what is wrong with me.

The first diagnosis, delivered by an actual doctor (Dr. Mack the Knife), is that I am suffering from an intra-thoracic stomach.  This explains why, over the past 1 1/2 years, I have had extreme, painful, doubling-over, hurty, moaning, need-to-throw-up-but-can’t pain during meals.  At least 1/2 of my stomach is above the diaphram and is residing in the place where my heart and lungs are supposed to live.  In addition, the stomach above the diaphragm has a slight twist to it.  So, in typical k8edid fashion, at a time when every other body part I own has drifted obscenely SOUTH, my stomach has migrated north of the border.  All this can, of course, be surgically repaired if I want to, say, ever eat a real meal again.  Until then I am forced to consume small meals consisting of preferably soft or liquid foods (Ummm, Wendy’s Frosty anyone?).  Fortunately for me, I can live on peanut butter cups, milkshakes, ice cream, lobster bisque, Riesling, and creme brulee’ indefinitely.

Logo of NPR News.

Logo of NPR News. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The second diagnosis was delivered by NPR.  In a broadcast discussion of marital issues and health problems facing retiring baby-boomers, I was intrigued by the mention of this disorder:  Retired Husband Syndrome.  Wikipedia (that fortress of knowledge for all things medical) describes RHS thusly:  It is a condition where a woman begins to exhibit signs of physical illness and depression as her husband reaches, or approaches, retirement.  Symptoms can include depression, rash, asthma, high blood pressure and ulcers.  The phenomenom has been studied in Japan where Japanese physicians estimate that as many as 60 percent of wives of retired men suffer to some extent from “RHS.”

In this article from the archives of the National Institute of Health, Dr. Charles Clifford Johnson, MD identified the syndrome and wrote in 1984:  I have frequently heard wives rage with such allegations as, “I am going nuts,” “I want to scream,” “He is under my feet all the time,” “He is driving me crazy,” “I’m nervous” or “I can’t sleep.” These emotional statements are  frequently associated with symptoms such as tension headaches, depression, agitation, palpitations, gas, bloating, muscle aches and so forth. (Not to be confused with symptoms following a visit to the drive thru at Taco Bell).

This  (RHS – not Taco Bell) would explain the remainder of my symptoms.  My husband is retired.  He has had a couple of jobs since retiring, but they were not really what he wanted and therefore….he is home.  All day.  All freakin’ day.  If I were home all day with him, one of us would probably be incarcerated.  My job, and the soul-sucking commute, and the fact that he escapes to his “man cave” when I am home are probably the only things keeping me alive (and living outside the razor wire) today.

So, if I have surgery  I will have to stay home all day to recuperate with YOU KNOW WHO.  Pass me the lobster bisque, will ya?

Red Lobster – Lobster Bisque Recipe

A bowl of lobster bisque

A bowl of lobster bisque (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Sometimes I’m Sexually Active – Sometimes I Just Lay There

Just kidding!!!  Usually I just lay there.  Or is it lie there?  Oh, hell.  I’m kidding, people.  I’m kidding!!!

British researchers, writing in the “Student BMJ” medical journal, have reported that sexually transmitted diseases have skyrocketed in the senior citizen population.  “A cross sectional study showed that more than 80 percent of 50 to 90 year olds are sexually active with cases of many common sexually transmitted infections more than doubling in this age group in the past 10 years,” wrote co-authors Rachel von Simson, a medical student at King’s College London, and Ranjababu Kulasegaram, a consultant genitourinary physician at St Thomas’ Hospital London. They cite studies showing an increase in cases of syphilis, chlamydia and gonorrhoea in the UK, USA and Canada in 45 to 64 year olds.

 Theories abound about the possible reasons for this dramatic rise in STD cases in older participants:  lack of education aimed at older populations, increase in use of prescription medications for erectile dysfunction, and lower rate of condom use in people over 45.  Baby boomers became sexually active post-pill and pre-AIDS and as such, their sexual education likely did not include condom use beyond possible birth control or STD prevention with “easy girls and prostitutes”.

Sexually transmitted disease

Image via Wikipedia

While all of this is highly alarming, of course, there exists boundless opportunities for entrepreneurs to capitalize on this phenomenom.  For instance:

There is the “sorry about the herpes” cookie.

Sorry About the Herpes

The “You Might Want to See Your Doctor” card

That warm feeling since our last date may be more than just reminiscing....you might want to see your doctor, soon.

The condom bouquet “Let’s Do it Again, and Again, and Again” (Viagra manufacturers should include a coupon for these with each prescription).
 
 
 
Nursing homes and assisted living facilities will need to update their marketing to include “conveniently located condom machines” and “free STD testing”.
 
 
STD clinics at nude senior citizen beaches and resorts…..
 
 
 
AARP discounts at brothels:
 
Brothel Australia
 
 
And the “high speed condom applicator” for those whose arthritic fingers make it difficult to apply said protection….
 
All kidding aside…..people are living longer, health conditions are being managed or reversed, and medications have made it possible for people to be sexually active for their entire lives.  Please take care of yourselves, and your health.  In every way.  Every time.
 

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FTFFT – Fingers Too Fat for Texting

Renee, from Life in the Boomer Lane, gave some great advice about never taking your cell phone out in public, lest people know you are a geezer. Unlike some of my peers, I gave up my ancient phone (you know the kind that you can make and receive calls on?  Nothing else.) I now have a smart phone, but once I take it out (provided, of course, I can remember where I last set the damned thing down), everyone knows I am a geezer.  I haven’t a clue how to use it.  Oh, I can answer it, sometimes, when I remember to slide the little green “button” to the right.  Usually I figure it out before someone leaves me a voicemail.  Which I haven’t figured out how to retrieve.

I get e-mails on my phone, allegedly.  At least it says I have 191 e-mails.  Don’t know how to retrieve those, either.  I did stop by the phone store to have someone show me how, but the 11 year old (I swear) who was working there touched the screen a couple of times, mumbled something about “pop servers” and handed the phone back to me.  The notification for the 191 e-mails was gone.  Not sure about the e-mails. And pop was never served.

I could possibly text on my phone.  The New Yorker recently published a list of text abbreviations and symbols Boomers could use in their texts.  I happen to like T4W (Time for Whiskey) and WWIS (What Was I Saying?).

The only real problem here is, I have FTFFT (Fingers Too Fat For Texting).  I recently managed to hit both the 4 and 6 when I was trying for the 5 when placing a call.  I spoke to someone in New Zealand, I believe.  The touch screen is incredibly small and is hard for me to type on while holding a magnifying glass in one hand.

Not to worry, my kids point out, I have auto-correct turned on (as if I knew how to do that).  I tried to send a message to my sons, Pancho and Lefty.  It went something like this:

Busy. Ruins evenly diy. Hit if bell. Liver yip bath. Murder.

What I was trying to say was: Boys, Rains every day. Hot as hell. Love you both. Madre.

I want my geezer phone back.

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