Here's the third installment of The Twelve* Bloggers of Christmas! Today you get Ms. Yvonne of Yo Mama's Blog, another woman I'm convinced you'll leave me for, especially once you see her in this amazing holiday sweater.
So it’s holiday time and my birthday is only a couple weeks away. Back when my boobs were still perky and I could tie my shoes and breathe at the same time, I loved birthday time. Presents! Attention! Drinking! I couldn’t wait for my birthday to roll around. I planned what I wanted to do for weeks ahead of time.
I turned 21 and it was sweet. I was in college. I got wasted four nights in a row and don’t remember any of it.
I turned 25 and it was awesome. I was single and having a good time. Everyone wanted to hook me up with their hot friends.
I turned 30 and it was all good. I was newly married and in a really good place in my life. 30 didn’t bother me.
I turned 35 and it was a little ugly. No, I did not want a party thankyouverymuch. I was now officially in my mid-30’s. That sucked.
Next month I turn 37 and it’s getting uglier, y’all. I am fully involved in my late-30’s. I am ENTRENCHED in them. I am dug into the bunker, holding off enemy fire with my anti-wrinkle cream and gray-covering hair dye. It’s getting real up in here. I have fine lines around my eyes. FINE LINES. I’m like a goddamn Oil of Olay commercial.
And the crazy thing is that I don’t feel all that different than I did at 25. I know, that is so cliché to say but turns out it is completely true. My mom told me last year when she turned 70 (gah!) that she’s still young in her mind. And I totally got it. I wouldn’t have at 25, but at almost-37 I am so there with her. It was a shock when I started running and my knees began to hurt so badly. I kept saying to my husband “My knees have never bothered me before, there must be something wrong” and he was all “Yeah, it’s called you’re-getting-old”. Hilarious, isn’t he?
But I’ve decided that next year I’m going to focus less on the negatives of aging and more on the positives. As my mom likes to say, “Getting older is better than the alternative”. So here are a few reasons why getting older is awesome:
With Age Comes Wisdom
Like every other person on the planet, I thought I knew everything when I was young. Now I realize I didn’t know shit. All I have to do now to appreciate growing older is hang around my 18 year old son and his friends for an hour. The idiocy and ignorance spewing from their mouths makes me laugh and be glad not to be that young and stupid anymore. You couldn’t pay me enough to be that age again. People my parents age probably say the same thing about people my age.
Doors Are Opening For Me Everywhere
Literally. I’ve found the older I get, the more often men will hold doors open for me. Especially young, cute men. I’m walking towards a store and a hot guy barely older than my son opens the door for me and I’m all thinking “Hey, look at that…I’ve still got it! I am such a cougar!” and he’s probably all thinking “Awww, that fat lady reminds me of my mom. I think I’ll hold the door for her.” But whatever. I’ll take it.
Gray Haired Men Are Suddenly Becoming More Attractive
I’m pretty sure this is a biological thing. Like God is getting me ready for menopause maybe? Because I’ve noticed I’m beginning to prefer men with a little gray in their hair. A mere five or six years ago that would have done nothing for me. I find myself staring longer at older men. Not old old men, you understand. Just more mature men than I used to be into. Show me a guy who looks like he’s almost ready to buy a mid-life crisis sports car and has a really nice stock portfolio and I’ll have fantasy material for weeks. My husband started to gray at the temples a couple years ago and I suddenly found myself stroking the sides of his face lovingly. Then the gray started to show up in his goatee and my new favorite thing to do in the bedroom was rub my parts on his chin. Now he’s completely salt and pepper. And that? Is totally hot to me. You know who else is salt and pepper? George Clooney. Case dismissed.
I Know My Way Around A Penis
Not to toot my own horn, but damn I’m good. This is not something I could truthfully say 10 years ago, although I might have lied and said it anyway. I’m sorry, ladies in your early 20’s, but you really have no idea what you’re doing. Unless you are a hooker. Which I hope you’re not because gross. This kind of goes along with my first reason up there. You can learn a lot about wieners as you age if you just pay attention. I think blow job skill is acquired, not inherent. Think about it. Men, no matter what we tell you, we do have a gag reflex and we don’t naturally love the taste of your junk. It’s a learning process. My advice to every man in his 20’s? Date at least one cougar, get her drunk on champagne and prepare to have your member and mind collectively blown. Call her “ma’am” and she’ll try even harder.
I Really Don’t Give A Damn Anymore
I’m just not all that concerned about what people think of me these days. I have always been very sensitive to other people’s feelings and what they thought of me. I spent a lot of time in the past worrying about why that bitch at work hated me or how I could get my sister to stop being mad at me for whatever I did that wrong that week. Now? Fuck that shit. I’m not wasting my precious time on it. I have more important things to do. Like drink. I could kick my past self for how much time I took away from drinking to worry about what other people thought. I could have been drunk so much more. It’s way more fun to get drunk than worry about assholes and their opinions. Also? I will totally karaoke on command at this point in my life. Anywhere. For reals. I couldn’t care less about what the strangers around me think. Dare me and I will totally do it. Standing in line at the bank? Done. Shopping? Absolutely. At a funeral? I think this occasion calls for a little Bee Gee’s to lighten the mood, don’t you?
So there you go. Just a few of the many reasons why it’s better to be my age than your age (if you’re younger than me). If you’re older than me, then I’m sure everything I’ve written is complete trash and I have no idea what I’m talking about. And to that I say, shut up Grandma.
Ms. Yvonne runs shop over at Yo Mama's Blog.
She's also on The Twitter: @yomamasblog
Go over there and hold the door for her, you young, punky-ass, little whipper-snapper!
*We're using the number twelve loosely here, ok?