Everyone Gets Old…Well, Except For Maybe Barbie…

So, lately I’ve realized that I’m slowly becoming geriatric.  I know, I know, I’m only 28, so how is that possible?  Well, it is, and this story is sad, but true (P.S. This has absolutely nothing to do with the song Runaround Sue), but more to do with some very unfortunate realities that at some point we youngin’s have to accept.  Now, some of us have to accept this sooner than others (such as moi), but no matter what, everybody has to come to terms with aging sooner or later anyway.

I must disclose, there have been signs for at least a year now that I’m becoming somewhat of a fossil, but up until now, I was in denial.  However, after becoming conscious of the fact that I’m doing some very old-timer-esque things, it’s time to come clean, and make a change, and hopefully it will feel so good, make a difference, and feel so right<–like Michael Jackson said.

So, I bring you…

Top 5 Reason’s I’ve Been Acting Old:

Ratings are on a scale from 1-101 = not acting that old, and 10 = practically acting like a senior…

In no particular order…

1.)  I unintentionally started to use products that my G-ma used to love, (e.g. Ponds cold cream, and ivory soap.)  I thought I had discovered some really inexpensive beauty gems, until I told my mom of my new-found beauty regimen, and she reminded me that those were also my grandma’s favorite products. Dang it.  Old Fogie Rating Of: 8

2.)  I have discovered that I am now lactose intolerant, and now have to drink Lactaid milk, and take Lactaid pills any time I want to consume dairy.  I don’t think you really need/want to here about the reasons how I came to this conclusion, so I won’t even go there, because things could get really awkward for all of us.  Deal?  Since this one is really not my fault or choosing, I give it an Old Fogie Rating Of: 5

Apparently I'm not the only one getting old...

3.)  Lately I have had a new love for food that doesn’t require any chewing…e.g. soup, and oatmeal<–‘Nuff said.  Old Fogie Rating Of: 7

4.)  I used to absolutely hate the song Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye, mostly because when I was about 17, I was at a wedding and saw a bunch of couples my parents age grinding to it on the dance floor, so I always associated it with middle age booty dancing, and the song has remained timelessly awkward to me ever since….until…I recently heard it while grocery shopping, and had an intense urge to start grooving to the beat myself.  I held myself back, and resorted to humming along to it instead…regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Old Fogie Rating Of: 7

5.)  When Matt and I were on our honeymoon in Kauai, we spent a lot of time listening to old island music on a local radio station in our rented car.  Okay, okay, so that doesn’t exactly constitute as acting old, but the following does.  After a week or so of nothing but ukulele’s, we decided to find a radio station that played the Top 40’s…before I proceed, let me just say that it could have merely been that we started off on the wrong foot, because the first song we heard was Akon’s “I Just Had Sex.”  All I know is, we took one look at each other, mumbled something to the effect of, “What is this music these days?!” and I think I also remarked that it was “giving me a headache,” (which is so something that my dad used to say when we’d be listening to radio when I was a teenager.) Anyway, we listened to it for about 30 seconds, and flipped the radio right back to the ukulele station.  Old Fogie Rating Of: 9

I have other reasons, too, but I think you get the point by now…

I also want to say that along with these ways I’ve been acting old, I have also been feeling kind of old.  For example, on my honeymoon I saw a group of girls, who were no older than 21, frolicking along the beach in their bikini’s, with no cellulite, and a beer in one hand.  It was obvious that they could still drink those beers, without a fear of gaining a beer gut just yet, and it’s not even as though I like beer (because I actually hate it) but I felt, well…OLD.  I tried to remind myself that I’m not old, and that normally in other circumstances, I feel confident with myself…but I couldn’t help it, I still felt old.  I wouldn’t trade where I’m at in my life for anything, but sometimes, you can’t help it, you still just feel how you feel, even if it’s irrational.

Anyway, I think I would rather just embrace the fact that I am getting older, than fight it, but I have to remind myself to not lose sight of the fact that I am still only 28 for God’s sake!  Everybody gets older.  Everybody. 

Well, except for maybe..

The Barb-inator...

But sooner or later, even those girls who I saw on my honeymoon?  Well, they’re going to get old one day, too.

All photos courtesy of Barbie inc., and Anne Taintor.

A Somewhat Hairy Sitch…

So, today I decided to give myself a haircut.  Why?  I really couldn’t tell ya.  Maybe it was boredom?  Living in the Caribbean I know sounds super exotic, right?  Well, that was kind of rude of me to assume, maybe it sounds like a H-E-double L- hole to you…either way or however you view it, I guarantee this place is not what it seems to you…ugh, there I go again with the assuming…I guess what I am trying to say is, living in Grenada is not always that exciting, and sometimes you have to make your own fun, which is precisely what I did today. (<–If by fun you mean almost having a breakdown because you got half-way through cutting your own hair, only to realize that there was a very very good chance you were about to ruin your hair, then it was tons and tons of fun! WOOO!  Can you tell I’m lying?  I am totally lying to you right now.

I woke up this morning feeling like, UGH.  Do you ever wake up feeling like that?  I just looked in the mirror and my hair looked so flat and tepid, that I thought my hair could use a little one-two, and that was it.  The idea to cut my own hair was sprung…(Btdubs, I have cut my own hair before, but just a lil’ trim and everything turned out just fine, so what was the harm?)…I know you’re probably wondering why there aren’t places in Grenada where I can go and have my hair cut, and I will answer that question by saying, there are places, but I have heard horror stories about them chopping off people’s hair and such.  So, therefore I wouldn’t even consider entrusting my tresses into those wretched scenes. On a side note, it is me who actually is the resident hair stylist on campus, and I do cuts out of our apartment all the time, because the students don’t want to have their huuuur cut by any of those cray cray hair places either…(<–Can you tell I am trying my best to justify to you all that I am not a high maintenance loony person?)  P.S. They have been known to cut women’s layers with a clipper. (<–Yep, stillllll justifying…) Anyway, so I thought my idea was a brilliant one, and I even told me husband about my plan, and he said, and I quote, “Oh Lordy, I’m gettin’ out of here.”  Because he knows where this little endeavor was about to take me, and even he could see that it was taking me on sure shot ride straight to where the crazy people reside.

So, I got my little spot all set up, in our bathroom, which is where all the magic was going to happen.  I had my handheld mirror, combs, water bottle, mat on the floor (as to not make a mess), and I was ready to go.  I wet my hair down, sectioned it out with clips, and everything was right with the universe.  About half-way through trimming the ends of my hair, I started to get cocky, and my mind raced in a bit of a mania, and I thought to myself, “I am already cutting my hair…and the wedding is over now…so why not just go for it, and really give myself a change.”  Yes, anyone can see where this story is headed.

P.S.  This is where pictures of the wondrous experience would be, but I can’t even post them because you would all see the photographs of a woman on the verge of hysterical histrionics.  ‘Nuff said.

So, I proceeded to take more and more off the layers, until I got to a point, of what some might call, no return…kind of a fork in the road…a dead end, if you will…but I had to keep going, I mean, I had no choice.  I had over ambitiously cut way too much off the layers at the back of my head, so when I got to the front of my hair, I freaked.  When I saw that in order for my hair to be even all the way throughout, that I needed to take off…well, a lot of hair (I don’t even want to tell you inches because it will make you shudder), I had somewhat of a nervous breakdown.

Matt came into the bathroom and attempted to defuse the situation.  He said, “Would it help if I took some pictures?” (He was only trying to help, because I had, had a tripod set up to take some shots while I was doing what was supposed to be a fun little project…)  But it wasn’t the picture-taking situation that had me worked up, it was this dreadful haircut I was knee-deep in that had me cursing the world.  I didn’t even need to answer, because I think he could see the crazy look in my eye, that there would be no pictures today.  No, none at all.  It was not a picture perfect kind of day.

I managed to walk away for a few minutes to compose my thoughts, eat some candy, read my blog comments, twiddle my thumbs, before going back into the place that had become my own little personal hell…aka, the scene of the crime.  So, I gathered my thoughts, took a deep breath, picked my sanity off the floor, and began to cut.

Somehow, someway I managed to finish without completely losing my marbles.  I just calmly went through the rest of my hair section by section, until I finished.  When all was said and done, it actually looked…good.  I have to say, I was actually pleasantly surprised with the results…which leads me to believe that maybe I was just being crazy, and it really wasn’t that bad all along…Perhaps I just thought it was…

All I know is, whatever the case may have been, I will never…and I repeat…never…cut my own hair again.  I prom.

P.S. Remind me that I made this vow 6 months from now…