My Birthday Was Yesterday
Not to belabor the point, but yesterday I celebrated my entry into my 55th year on this planet. Oh God. I never meant to be this old. When I was 12, I thought 15 was ridiculous, when I was 25, 40 was disgusting. I mean really, really disgusting. The idea of making pup pup to a 40 year old woman would help me vomit. Which wasn't all bad of course. When I was 25 I ate some weird things. But a 40 year old woman? Aren't they supposed to be dead or something?
Now, when I do my pitiful little bit of grocery shopping at Cheapie's (it's next to my transgender pay toilet downtown) I find myself looking at 60 year old women (today's 60 is really 40...right) with verve. This is insanity, but I look at 60 year old bosoms as worthy of my mouth and hands. Indeed, I am outraged at me. In the past, I would have dismissed them as trash, and thrown not only the bosoms, but all of the lady's sex organs down the chute.
My own sex organs are not what they used to be (I have only the one...right?) In my wretched past, I could have walked down the street full of the sexual excitement I craved but rarely got. Now (I know you really don't want to hear this, so don't read it out loud, for goodness sake. Who am I, God?) I can go days and not even think about my most wonderous of buddies living in the prime real estate that was once between my legs. Now he just lives in semi-retirement, only knocking at my door once or twice a week to see if he can come out and play.
But turning 54 is not all about sex. One does think of his mortality, naturally. At 40 I thought I had the rest of my life before me. Now, I just think that I have the rest of my life before me. If a stroke, heart attack, cancer, city bus, choking, being beaten to death, shot in the head or gut, earthquake, and all of the other various assorted ways I'll may die don't get me, I may live to 94, still here writing my blog, checking my lottery tickets, and with my balls down to knees.
I need a drink.
Joey
Now, when I do my pitiful little bit of grocery shopping at Cheapie's (it's next to my transgender pay toilet downtown) I find myself looking at 60 year old women (today's 60 is really 40...right) with verve. This is insanity, but I look at 60 year old bosoms as worthy of my mouth and hands. Indeed, I am outraged at me. In the past, I would have dismissed them as trash, and thrown not only the bosoms, but all of the lady's sex organs down the chute.
My own sex organs are not what they used to be (I have only the one...right?) In my wretched past, I could have walked down the street full of the sexual excitement I craved but rarely got. Now (I know you really don't want to hear this, so don't read it out loud, for goodness sake. Who am I, God?) I can go days and not even think about my most wonderous of buddies living in the prime real estate that was once between my legs. Now he just lives in semi-retirement, only knocking at my door once or twice a week to see if he can come out and play.
But turning 54 is not all about sex. One does think of his mortality, naturally. At 40 I thought I had the rest of my life before me. Now, I just think that I have the rest of my life before me. If a stroke, heart attack, cancer, city bus, choking, being beaten to death, shot in the head or gut, earthquake, and all of the other various assorted ways I'll may die don't get me, I may live to 94, still here writing my blog, checking my lottery tickets, and with my balls down to knees.
I need a drink.
Joey
posted by Mr. Liberty at 9:03 AM
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